Where There is Hope
by ShittyTeen
Summary: When Daryl stumbles upon a broken down girl in the forest, he instantly feels the need to take her in. Little does he know at the time that his decision could potentially change his life forever. -Starts while the group is in Alexandria, a couple days after Aaron asks Daryl to help him recruit new people- -There will be spoilers-
1. Lead Me Home

Blaire

 _We always said 'just one more night'. That's all we ever needed. Just one more night, and maybe things would be better in the morning. But that was then, and this is now. We becomes you, and_ _ **you**_ _start to wonder what you're really holding on for. You wake up in the morning and think you can't go on, but you do, because of those who have fallen. Sometimes, you make it. Other times, you don't. That's just how the world works now._

Golden light filters between the trees, warming the side of my face. Deep purple inches it's way up rough brown bark, stopping occasionally to change courses or maybe just rest. The early morning breeze picks up a few strands of hair, forcing them to twist and turn in an enchanting dance. The ache living behind flesh and bone continues on, like the idling of a car whose owner refuses to turn it off. The cut, etched across an otherwise untouched face, begs to be scratched at, to be pulled open again by rough, uncut nails. Blood pumps right at the surface, eager to flow freely down dirt covered skin. Ahead, rotting flesh, turned a leathery brown color due to exposure to the elements, stumbles over branches, yellow eyes scanning the area as it searches for something, anything, to turn into its next breathing buffet. I keep an eye on the dead one, now positioned to my right; continuing to follow the tracks of what I'm hoping is a deer. The canned vegetables and spam are all right, but God does some fresh meat sound amazing.

Behind me, I hear a twig snap. My hand instantly drops to my gun as I spin in the direction of the noise. "Whoever it is, I'm armed and _will_ shoot you."

There is a quiver in my voice. I don't even believe my own words. I've been out here too long, seen too much. I promised to keep going and I don't break a promise. I have to fight. I have to live. If not for myself then for those who lost their own battles.

"Show yourself!" I demand, sounding a bit more confident this go round. "Now!"

Two men step into view, each holding their hands up by their ears, showing that they're unarmed, or at least don't intend to use the weapons they're toting. Both are covered in a layer of dirt, various spots made cleaner by sweat. One has on a deep blue rain coatT, only half buttoned up; a plaid shirt peeks out from underneath the jacket lining. He's got a tan bag thrown over one shoulder, a rifle over the other. His partner is the one who catches my eye though. This man stands straight; chest heaving under his black button up, a thick mop of dark brown hair covers half his face. The eye I can see stares, unblinking, at me, occasionally sinking lower or higher and then returning to meet my gaze. He's got a crossbow strapped across him, a knife resting in a sheath looped through a belt buckle. I keep eye contact with him as the blue jacket man begins to talk.

"Uh...my name is Aaron and this is Daryl."

I keep my gun raised, unsure of these new arrivals. Aaron fidgets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. For someone who's out here to survive, he sure is skittish. I know how I must look to them, dirty and unkempt, it has to be obvious that I've been on my own for a while now. My clothes, a par of jeans with the knees busted out, a blood stained tank top, and unraveling knit poncho all stiff with mud. The cut, barely scabbed over, some places still dripping with blood. There isn't an inch of skin that isn't covered in dirt. If I were them, I'd be wary too. It isn't just the dead we need to fear; people kill people, that's just how the world works now.

Daryl

"We don't mean any harm. We're just going to be on our way." Aaron's words catch my attention. Usually if we run into people along our way we extend an offer to come live with us. I'm not sure why he's withholding it from this girl. She looks harmless enough, scared shitless. Hell, she could've shot both of us but hasn't.

Reaching out I catch Aaron by his shoulder, forcing him to spin around and look at me. Glancing at the girl, I turn my back to her, lowering my head so that I can talk with Aaron. "We ain't bringin' her back?"

"No," Aaron glances over his shoulder quickly. "She looks feral. Deanna isn't going to want her around."

"Hey, I looked feral when I came in and she still kept our group around."

Aaron sighs, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I don't know Daryl, she looks like trouble."

"She's alone. By the looks of her, it's been that way awhile."

"We don't know that." I understand his caution despite it feeling unnecessary. If she were going to do something, she would have by now. You don't hesitate like that if you mean someone harm.

I let out a long sigh, my hand dropping off of Aaron's shoulders. I don't want to leave her out here alone. I'd want someone to extend the same favor to anyone I've been traveling with. I wouldn't want them to just pass them by because they looked like they'd been out for too long. "I'll vouch for her. If something happens because we bring her back, I'll take the fall."

Aaron frowns, shaking his head, but makes no move to stop be from turning around and addressing the girl standing before us. "I'm Daryl."

"Yeah, your friend told me," the girl responds, a sarcastic edge to her voice as she lowers her gun; tucking it back into a holster.

"You gotta name or should I just call ya whatever I feel like?"

The girl shrugs, hands going to her hips, "Depends on what you plan on calling me."

I snort, "Smart – ass?"

The brunette in front of me grins, crinkling up her nose, "We don't know each other well enough for pet names yet, Daryl. For now you can call me Blaire."

"How many walkers have you killed?" Aaron questions from over my shoulder.

"I don't know. Probably over a hundred by now, but it could be more," Blaire answers uncertainly, chewing at her thumb as she thinks.

I nod, "How many people you killed?"

Blaire squints her eyes at me, the distrust running both ways, "How many have _you_ killed?"

"Just answer the question," Aaron demands, curling his fingers around the hilt of his knife.

"Four, but they all deserved it." Blaire answers, reaching down, hand resting on her gun. "What's this all about anyway?"

"We're with a community. That cut don't look so good. We got a doctor," I announce, gaze shifting from Blaire to the trees behind her as the branches rustle. We can't keep standing here in the open like this. We'll all end up in a less than ideal situation. This stranger isn't worth getting killed over.

"I don't need a doctor. And I'm not going back with you people-" Blaire chews on her bottom lip for a second "-not unless you come with me first."

"Daryl, we should just – " Aaron starts but I quickly raise a hand, motioning for him to be quite.

"Why?"

Blaire shrugs, "Trust works both ways. How am I supposed to trust that you're good people if you don't trust me? Besides, I've got stuff at my camp I wanna grab if I'm gonna go live at your community."

"Aaron, go ahead back to Alexandria. Let 'em know I'll be back tomorrow." I instruct, picking up the pack I dropped and slinging it over my shoulder.

"Daryl, I'm not just letting you go by yourself." Aaron argues though he looks like he'd love to take off running back towards safety.

"It's fine. Smart – ass over ain't gonna do nothin' to me -" I glance over my shoulder at the brunette, raising an eyebrow. "- Will ya?"

She shrugs, "You don't try anything and I won't have to."

"Harmless."

Aaron rolls his eyes, frowning. Blaire's non-committal shrug only adds to his distrust, "This is a mistake."

"Ain't your decision."

Blaire 

Daryl keeps pace with me; occasionally spinning around and walking backwards to make sure none of the dead are sneaking up on us. The car I'd driven out here is about three miles away, tucked behind some overgrown bushes in hopes that no passing stranger would discover it. My traveling companion follows without question even as I lead him further and further away from Aaron and his community. He remains vigilant, eyes sharp as he take in our surrounding. I have questions, but refrain from asking them. I'll have time tonight or on the drive back to my camp.

"How'd you get the scratch?" Daryl questions as we near the car.

Instead of answering, I begin to move away branches, slowly cleaning off the red Volkswagen I'd found near the beginning of this thing. Daryl, seeing what I'm doing, jumps in, pulling a bush clear out of the ground. I shake my head, silently laughing as he frowns, throwing the plant away from us. I bet he's one of those guys that's always traveled in a group. He's probably hung in the back, letting someone else make the decisions, only putting in his ideas when he felt strongly about them. I bet he doesn't know his own strength, physical or intellectual.

"I got in a fight with someone. He was number four. I got off with this scratch. Um – " I trail off, blinking away tears. Now isn't the time to think about what happened. I need to get both of us back to my camp before it gets dark. There will be a time to mourn for the dead later.

Daryl eyes me, his stony expression softening in understanding, but he doesn't push me to go on. Everyone's lost someone out here. That's just kind of a fact of life anymore. I don't think it ever gets easier though.

"Why'd you agree to come back with me? I mean, I could have a whole band of people waiting for you back at my camp." I question as we climb into the car and I start the engine. Per usual, I check the gas gauge; half a tank. This became a habit after we'd run out during some not so ideal situations. I keep two canisters in the back in case of an emergency, but it's always better if I check before I head out.

"Do ya?" Daryl questions placing his crossbow and backpack in the backseat before propping his feet up on the dashboard.

Rolling my eyes I turn on the radio, flipping it over to an oldies CD, one I'd picked up on a scavenging mission, "If I did I wouldn't be dumb enough to tell you about it before hand."

"Are we seriously listenin' to this?" As Daryl moves to change the song, I slap his hand away, shooting him a side-glare. I've been on my own way too long and become accustomed to listening to whatever I want on the drives for supplies. He's not about to try and control the radio.

"It's this or a worn out Muse disc that starts to skip around track two and stops playing completely around track five. I like the oldies though."

"'Course ya do."

Ignoring his previous comment, I turn down a gravel road. I've tried to fill in a few of the pot holes but eventually gave up, figuring I should put my energy into keeping the house up and running and the mouths inside fed. A pang of sadness takes over but I force it away. I need to keep my guard up. As nice as Daryl is I did let Aaron go back to his community. They could have people out looking for my passenger now. I can't afford another attack. As we hit a particularly bad dip in the road Daryl throws his arms out, his dark eyes growing wide, a grimace playing across his face. "What the hell you trying ta do? Kill us both?"

Once again I roll my eyes, shifting my gaze over to the bowman who has settled back into my passenger seat, "Calm down Daryl. I've been driving this thing since the beginning I have no intention of losing her now. You're bleeding by the way."

Daryl looks down, fingers meeting the wet, red stained spot just above the waist of his pants. He curses under his breath, pressing his palm hard into his side as he turns around in the seat, beginning to search through his pack. Once he's pulled out a long roll of bandage he lifts his shirt up, trying to wrap it around his middle without removing the pressure.

"I can bandage that for you once we're inside." I offer, pulling off the road and shutting the car down. "You shouldn't wrap it dirty it could get infected."

"I don't need your help," Daryl barks back, throwing the wrapping back into his bag and getting out of the car.

"Just an offer. I learned a few things from the nurse who was traveling with me for a while. What happened anyway?"

Daryl grimaces at me, "Met some unruly people."

I nod as we walk back out onto the gravel road. "Well, it isn't much, but welcome to your home for the night."

Daryl

Blaire bows forward, sweeping her hands out to the side. Ignoring her, I continue to stare at the twenty or so staked walkers positioned around the yard. Each one has got its arms and legs chopped off. Somehow, most are still letting out groans, yellowing teeth grinding together. Other than the field of walkers, it looks like Blaire hasn't taken any other safety measures. No wonder she's lost people along the way, probably doesn't know how to take care of herself, let alone others. "What the hell is this?"

"Oh," Blaire glances at the walkers, smirking a little. "That's the dead garden. They keep the other dead ones away. It took us a little to figure out how to stake them without killing them. Trick is to leave most of the body. I do have to change them out every now and again. The poles eventually poke through their skulls."

"How long've you been here?" I question as Blaire shoves the door open, leading me into a carpeted room lined with shelves full of dumb shit that rich people used to spend their money on. While walking past, Blaire reaches out, knocking a white and blue vase off a shelf. I glance at it as it hits the floor, shattering into dozens of pieces.

The brunette shrugs, continuing through the kitchen and into a living area. Aside from the blankets and pillows piled up in the corner nothing in here looks like it's been changed. "Since last winter maybe. I wanted to keep going but everyone else was starting to get sick from being out in the cold. We got attacked shortly after we settled in, lost about four. After that no one wanted to go anywhere. Things went pretty smoothly until…" Blaire's fingers play over the wound cutting across her face.

"How'd ya get it all to work?" I ask, continuing to take in my surrounding. The doors and windows along the back of the house have been boarded over. There is a television set against the wall, a big leather couch set in front of the fireplace. I stand in the middle of the living room waiting for Blaire to answer my question.

"There's a generator out back and about five more in the garage. I don't know who lived here before, but they sure as hell stocked the place," She finally explains motioning for me to sit down on the sofa. "I'm going to go grab some bandages from the bathroom. Can I trust you to not make a run for it?"

"Ain't got nowhere else to go," I answer back, working on digging a piece of gravel out from under my nail. "Still don't need your help."

Blaire rolls her eyes, giving me a frown, "Sure thing, tough guy."

The brunette disappears into a backroom. I keep my knife pulled, eyes fixed on the doorway Blaire went through, prepared to defend myself if she decides to attack. Staying vigilant keeps you alive. Walking around the room, I open drawers and cabinets, searching for signs of anybody else that may be living here. Most of the stuff looks like it belonged to the original owners. As I go to open the hall closet, I hear a rustling on the landing. Pulling the crossbow over my head, I load in an arrow as a flash of brown shoots down the stairs, disappearing behind the kitchen counter. Spinning around, I follow the sounds, ready to shoot when the creature reappears. Big yellow eyes blink at me from around the dark wood of the cabinets. As I go to release an arrow, Blaire reenters the room, striding across the hardwood, her fingers curling around the end of my weapon. "Kindly don't point that thing at Duke."

"That thing has a name?" I question, lowering my crossbow and fitting the arrow back into the holster.

Once again I receive and eye roll as Blaire motions for me to sit back on the couch. "Yes. That's Duke. I've had him since he was a baby."

"There ain't no way Deanna's gonna let you have that thing in Alexandria," I explain shaking my head. It takes a special kind of idiot to own a wild animal.

"Looks like I won't be going then. Now, lets get that cut patched up before you bleed out on my sofa."

Blaire

Daryl grimaces from across the room, his displeasure with me insisting on patching him up evident. He can protest all he wants but I'm not gonna just let him keep the wound open and untreated. It's not healthy and I'll be damned if he ends up getting an infection because he wants to be stubborn. I've dealt with those kinds of people before and none of them get very far, at least not in the world we're currently living in. As I go to lift his shirt, Daryl flinches away from my touch, eyes leaving me and landing on Duke who has taken up his usual spot on the stovetop

"Sorry," I mumble as Daryl settles back down. Although he's still stiff under my touch, he allows me to clean and wrap the wound without any further objections or complaints. Once it's done I step away, allowing the bowman to fix his shirt and readjust on the couch.

"You really ain't gonna come back if ya can't bring your beast?" Daryl questions once I've returned to the living room, splaying my limbs out over the worn down carpet.

I turn my head so that I can look at the dark haired man, "Nope. He's been with me too long to just abandon him. Besides, he knows how to fight the dead and does a pretty decent job of keeping the rodents away."

Daryl nods, seemingly lost in thought. "What'd you do before all this?"

I smirk. It's funny how people try so hard to cling onto the time before this, like any of it really matters anymore. Sure, some skills are useful but most of them fall to the wayside, unable to be utilized in a world without any real structure or purpose. "I kinda floated. I served for a while in this sickeningly fancy bar in New York City. Before that I worked as an auto mechanic. I just applied for a law enforcement position a few months before the shit hit the fan."

"You came all the way here from New York?" Daryl questions, raising an eyebrow as if he doesn't believe my story at all.

"No. My mom got sick right at the beginning. I was all she had in terms of family so I came back from New York to take care of her. After everything happened I figured it was better to be in a rural area than take my chances getting back up north. What about you? What's your story?"

Daryl grunts in response, shrugging his shoulders, "Ain't really got one."

Raising an eyebrow I push myself up into a sitting position. There's no way in hell he's getting out of sharing. This isn't going to be a one-way conversation. I'm not gonna go live with some guy if I don't know anything about him. "Everyone's got a story, Daryl."

"Well I don't. Not one worth sharin' anyway," Daryl grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest defensively; using the dirt covered flesh as a type of armor against my prying inquisitions.

Rolling my eyes, I flop back down across the carpet, "Fine, keep your secrets. Can I at least get a last name?"

"Dixon. Daryl Dixon."

"Well, Mr. Dixon pleased to meet you." I flash him a smile before getting up off the ground and heading into the kitchen. "You hungry? I've got just about any kind of canned thing you can think of. I can even heat most of it up. Can't make toast though. Duke knocked the toaster off the counter and it just doesn't work right anymore."

Daryl wanders into the kitchen, opening up various cabinets stacked full of various cans and boxes that I've managed to scavenge over my time in this area. For some reason the local mom and pop shop got avoided in the raids. Some of the stuff is off brand and looks like it's been on the shelves since the fifties, but I've not gotten sick off of it yet. Eventually, he pulls a container of Spam and some canned corn out, placing it on the counter. "Got a pan?"

"Yeah," squatting down I pull out the draw under the oven, handing up a pan. As I go to stand up my head begins to spin, little white dots clouding my vision. My legs give out and I can feel myself begin to fall. Reaching for the stove, I try to steady myself but miss, continuing my descent towards the tiled floor. Just as I'm about to hit, strong arms incase me, preventing me from falling any further. Blinking a few times to clear my vision I come face to face with Daryl.

"How long has that cut been bleedin'?" Daryl questions, helping me to stand back up before leading me over to the table, pulling out a chair so that I can sit.

"Few days maybe," I answer.

Daryl frowns, turning away from me to search through the cabinets once again. After a second he comes across a set of glass cups. Seeming satisfied with that, he pulls one out, filling the cup up with water from the tap. "Got any other injuries?" He questions, setting the glass of water down on the table in front of me.

"I mean, it was a fight, I got knocked around a little. Fucker pushed me down the stairs. He tried to kick me around after that but I shot him."

"You get the cut on your face from the stairs?" Daryl narrows his eyes, the mistrust hanging in the air like a thick blanket.

Taking a drink of water, I shake my head back and forth slowly; trying to avoid making the headache I'm starting to get any worse. "No. I got my head shoved through the glass window on the door. That's why it's boarded over."

"You need to see a doctor." Daryl comments. "That cuts probably gonna need stitches."

"I already told you, I don't need a damn doctor." I argue.

Daryl leans over, hands placed on the table top, his nose almost touching mine. "It ain't your choice no more, Blaire! First thing in the mornin' we're loading up that car of yours with all the supplies ya got and that cat of yours and we're taking you to the _damn doctor_."

"Fine!" I shoot back, slamming my hands down on the table hard enough for my water glass to fall over.

Daryl straightens back out, crossing his fleshy armor across his chest once again, "Fine."


	2. Taking Leave

Daryl

After Blaire agrees to see the doctor in Alexandria I begin on dinner. She puts up a fight about helping, insisting she's well enough to make food. I ignore her. I can figure out how to light the stove-top and heat up the food. Blaire's eyes stay on me, following my every move. There's distrust. The two of us dance around each other, waiting for the other to attack. Sure, she's alone now, but her people could be waiting out somewhere, ready to attack at a signal. I keep my crossbow close, an arrow fitted in it, ready to shoot if needed. At least she hasn't zip-tied my hands together or tried to injure me in any way. She's weak though, I can see it in her eyes. If it's just her and she tires to attack I can take her down. If there are others, people hidden upstairs or in the woods, it'll have to play out.

"Do you wanna eat out on the porch?" Blaire questions once I've blown out the flame under the pan and found bowls.

I shrug as Blaire's lynx begins to lick at the remaining food bits in the pan. My instinct is to shoo the animal away but the brunette sitting in front of me doesn't seem too concerned so I leave it. I still have no idea how we're gonna get Deanna to agree to let her keep the thing. Hell, there isn't even dogs around Alexandria and now this girl wants to bring in a wild animal.

"Come on," Blaire gets up, grabbing her bowl and heading towards the stairs.

I follow behind quietly, scanning over the new environment. Pictures hang on the walls, images of the family who used to own this home. At the top of the stairs is a big white frame, a baby with a pink bow tied around its head smiles down at me from behind the glass. The date in the corner reads March seventieth, only a few months before shit hit the fan. My thoughts instantly go to lil' ass-kicker back at Alexandria, probably snuggled under the quilt, donated by another family, fast asleep. We got lucky with that one. There are three other doors upstairs all shut. As Blaire pushes open a door at the end of the hall, I spin around, glancing over the landing once more. At the far side of the bedroom is a glass door; leading out onto a porch that overlooks the back of the house.

"You put up that fence?" I question, taking a seat in one of the rocking chairs digging through my pockets for my cigarettes and a lighter.

The brunette glances in my direction, spooning some of the Spam and corn mix into her mouth, swallowing as I light the end of my cigarette. "Not all of it. The part along the lake and the rest of the path was already done. My group put the rest of it up and strung all the cans. We used to have shifts to go check and make sure everything was still in working order. I've not checked it since I got hurt though."

For a while we eat in silence. I wonder what Aaron told Deanna about me not coming back. She's probably not happy. I bet Rick will have something to say about it, he always does. Despite the circumstances, Deanna will let her stay at least until the wound is healed, longer if she doesn't cause trouble.

"Why didn't you just leave with that Aaron guy? He didn't want me. You could've gone. I was in no position to stop you."

I frown, pulling my knees up to my chest. I don't know why I decided Blaire was worth it. Sure, she's hurt and needs a doctor, but I could've just bandaged her up, given her a handful of antibiotics, and been on my way. Beth's face flashes across my vision, her words about caring and needed to keep part of our humanity ringing in my ears. "When you turned around, the look in your eyes. You just reminded me of someone I used to know. I would've wanted someone to help her out."

"Girlfriend?" Blaire questions.

"Naw."

"Is she still alive?"

I swallow hard, turning to face Blaire. Her grey eyes are set on me, her stare intense enough to make me shift around a bit. The feeling that Blaire can read my thoughts washes over me. "Just eat yer food. We gotta early day tomorrow."

Blaire

Daryl's avoidance of my question disappoints me. For a second, I thought I had him. Then, just like that, he shut back down, putting up his walls and forcing me onto the other side. Although he no longer wants to talk, I continue to watch him, his movements entrancing me. It's like some kind of rehearsed dance; the way he lifts his cigarette to his lips, muscles rippling ever so slightly with the movement. His cheeks hollow as he breaths in the smoke, letting it flow out of his nose. I continue to watch as Daryl stands, twirling the still smoking butt of the cigarette between his dirt stained fingers before letting it fall.

"Why don't we go check that fencing?" His continued caution, though understood, is beginning to get on my nerves. I'm not going to hurt him; he must know that by now. I've had plenty of chances, been close enough to do damage. I haven't asked for his weapons. There are no people waiting for the cover of night to move in and attack.

"Okay." Together we get up, shutting the balcony door and walking across the bedroom I've been staying in since arriving here.

When we first arrived, there were twelve of us. I was appointed the leader by this point and as a whole the group decided I should be allowed to have a private room. The twins along with two men they were traveling with took the bedroom off to the left of the upstairs landing. An older gentleman, Roderick, took the room on the right, offering to share with another person after he discovered there were two beds. The family took the bedroom downstairs, a decision I made for them. They needed to have their own space, to feel like one unit again instead of just an extension of the rest of our people. The youngest of our group, Patricia, orphaned by the outbreak, originally resigned to sleeping on the couch. That was until she discovered the attic space. There was an assortment of old junk up there including a bed frame and an antique dresser. I'm pretty sure she spent a solid month tidying the space up and turning it into her own private bedroom. A smile crosses my face as I replay the happier times in my head.

As Daryl and I exit the house through the backdoor, I pull my gun out of the holster, checking the clip, making sure I have bullets in the event that I need them. Daryl's got his crossbow in hand, letting it hang down by his side. The fingers on his other hand stay curled around the handle of his knife.

"So what's it like in this community?" I question Daryl as we walk along the west side of the fence towards the lake at the back of the property.

Daryl glances at me, chewing the inside of his cheek. "Its safe I guess. The people there don't really get it. They've been inside too long. Decent people, though. We got walls 'n power 'n food."

"Do you think I'll get along with those people?" I question. I've been on my own for about two months now. Daryl is the first person I've talked to since the death of my final group member. People put me on edge. The living are calculated and have skills used to hunt and kill. People want other people dead. Trust has always been hard for me, but with the way the world works now it's become almost impossible. The last people I trusted and cared about ended up buried.

Daryl shrugs, "Don't know. My people'll probably like ya."

Nodding, I let the conversation stop. The answers I want won't come from talking things out. I have to be in this community, talk to those living within the walls. If I'm comfortable with them and the accept me, I'll stay. If not I'll have to continue to make it on my own.

"You can take my bedroom and I'll sleep downstairs." I offer, pulling some extra blankets out of the hall closet and handing them over to Daryl. "I shut the generator off at night so it'll get a little cold."

Daryl nods, "We're leavin' early tomorrow."

"I know," I answer before leaving Daryl, heading down the stairs and back into the living area.

The clock on the stove reads nine twenty-two. "Eight hours and thirty-eight minutes till sunrise." I mumble to myself, beginning to pull duffels out from under the TV hutch. As the night progresses on, I pack the cans and boxed food items into the bags. There's no point in leaving anything behind. This community will probably need the supplies.

Once the food is packed away, I sit on the couch; knees draw up to my chest, a blanket draped around my shoulder. Duke shits next to me, pink tongue working to clean his paws. My eyes stay focused on the VCR clock, watching the minutes tick by. My eyes grow heavy and I begin pinching the skin of my forearm, trying to ward the tired feeling off. I won't sleep. I won't let the nightmares take over. Not now.

 _"_ _Come on! I saw it just up here! I swear!" Patricia laughs, her blonde hair, tied back in two braids this morning, bouncing against her back as she continues to run through the forest._

 _We've been tracking this flickering light through the woods. It appeared about two days ago. Originally, I told Patty that we wouldn't be going after it. We need to figure out a new course of action. After the last raid we lost the twins, the only other two from our group still alive. We can't afford to go looking for new people. After some coaxing and the offering up of her last box of Moon Pies, Patricia convinced me to at least check it out._

 _"_ _Patty, wait up. We need to stay close!" I call after her. We've ventured further from the house than I wanted. We need to turn around before the sun starts to set. Those people who attacked our group are still out here and probably looking for vengeance for the two men we killed._

 _A scream up ahead causes me to run faster, almost stumbling over a fallen tree as I try to catch up to Patricia. The screams get closer as I enter a clearing. Mirrors are tied around the trees surrounding the area. In front of me is a pit about the size of a basement. Patty has fallen in. A wooden stake, sharpened at the top has gone clear through her thigh._

 _"_ _It's okay, we're gonna figure out how to get you out." I try and remain calm as I sink to my knees, staring down at the frightened blonde._

 _As I look around for anything of use Patricia screams again, beginning to cry. "Blaire they're in here with me. Blaire!"_

 _Dead ones walk across the pit towards Patricia. She does her best to fight them off, firing round after round. Unable to twist around, she misses their heads, quickly running out of ammunition. As she tries to get to her knife I fire into the pit, killing off six before the gun is empty. We didn't pack extra bullets._

 _The commotion has brought others. Dead ones begin to enter the cleaning in groups of two or three. Patricia continues to scream, as she flails her arm around, trying to get the ones in the pit with her knife. The dead begin falling into the hole, some breaking limbs along the way or impaling themselves on the other wooden stakes._

 _"_ _Can you pull the stake out of you leg Patty?" I call down, lying flat on my stomach, trying to reach down into the pit to help her kill the dead._

 _The blonde blinks up at me, tears clinging to her face. She begins to kick at the part of the stake above her thigh. It splinters, eventually falling off to the side. Feeling a tug on my boot, I roll over just in time to kill a dead one who was set on biting into me. Standing back up, I slide my knife up under the chin of another, satisfied with the crunching sound of bone and body going limp seconds later. The woods are swarming, more and more pouring out of the trees._

 _"_ _Blaire! I can't get my leg off."_

 _"_ _You have to Patty, Just lift it off." I call, trying to fight back my own tears. I'm not losing her._

 _"_ _It won't!" She cries up at me. A dead on in the pit trips over her, landing with its teeth gnashing, fingers tearing into the hole in Patricia's leg. She screams as blood spurts everywhere. "Blaire!"_

 _More of the dead have fallen, and although she tries to kill them, Patty is overwhelmed. I stand at the top of the hole as the dead rip into Patricia, her screams filling the air. My name escapes her lips as she reaches up, begging me to do something._

I fly forward, fingers curled around the handle of my knife. Breathing heavy, my eyes scan the room. I'm no longer in the forest, but safe inside the living room. The VCR clock reads two fifteen. I fell asleep, forced to relive the death of Patricia yet again. Wiping a tear away from my cheek I stand, letting my blanket fall to the floor. From my position I can hear the stairs creaking. Walking forward slowly, I make my way quietly up the stairs.

Daryl and I meet on the landing, knives raised, chest heaving. Even upon the realization that there is no imminent threat, we don't relax, neither of us wanting to be the first to lower our weapon. "Can't sleep?" I break the tense silence.

"Naw," Daryl answers back. "You?"

I shake my head, slowly lowering the arm holding the knife, "No."

"Want help packing up the rest of yer stuff?" Daryl offers, tucking his knife back into the holster.

Shrugging, I turn, heading back down the stairs. The clock over the stove reads two thirty. Only four hours and thirty minutes till sunrise.

Daryl

"How far is it to your camp?" Blaire asks as we load the final bags into the back of her car. In total we're bringing back about two bags of food and another full of other odds and ends. The lynx sits in the back seat, surrounded by tubs of gasoline and a bag full of extra weapons and ammunition.

"Maybe seventy miles," I answer back, shutting the passenger door. "We'll be there before lunch."

Blaire nods, eyes never leaving the house she's leaving behind. She plays with a pendant tied around her neck on a shoestring. Tears cling to her cheeks but she makes no move to wipe them away. As she blinks, a drip of water lands on her pants, creating a darker mark on them. She lets her thumb trail over this spot before putting the car into drive and heading towards the road.

We travel in silence. Blaire follows my directions, her body language and the look in her eyes telling me that she isn't present in the situation.

As we make the final turn on our journey to Alexandria, Blaire slams on the breaks, putting the car into park. She throws her door open, walking across the street towards a board with black letters on it. I watch her as she rearranges them, completely oblivious to the rest of her surrounding. A walker stumbles through the parking lot, it's yellowing eyes set on Blaire. I tense up, fingers curling around the door handle, ready to step in if I have to. As the walker grows closer, Blaire spins around, cutting its head clear off its shoulder with an axe she had brought along with her. Letting the weapon hang down at her side, she looks at the board for a second longer before crushing in the walker's skull with the heel of her boot and heading back to the car. Blaire puts the car in drive and continues down the road. Glancing in the rearview mirror I see the sign she stopped for. The words 'give a shit' stare back at me.

"Deanna's gonna want to interview you," I announce as the gates of Alexandria come into view. "Just give her a good story. Play up that injury. I'm gonna go to let the doctor know he'll have to see you."

Blaire, who seems to have come out of her funk after killing that walker, looks at me, raising an eyebrow. "An interview? Seriously?"

I shrug, "Just the way she likes to do things. Flash your lights, they'll let you in."

Once again Blaire gives me a look that says she thinks this whole thing is crazy. Nonetheless, she follows instructions, the gates of Alexandria beginning to slide open. She drives though, stopping just inside. As we come to a stop I open the door, stepping out on the street. Rick is waiting, giving me a nod as Blaire comes around to stand next to me. "Welcome to Alexandria."


	3. Here

Blaire

"Why do you want to be here, Blaire?" Deanna sits on a couch, a camera set up behind her. She's got one leg crossed over the other, hands resting on her knee. Her gaze is set on me and something in the look she's giving me makes me uncomfortable. It's like I've been arrested and she's the officer sent in to interrogate me, only she knows more about my crime than I do. Everything I can think up to say just seems like the wrong answer.

Pushing back the curtain, I peer out at the street. A woman pushing a stroller waves to a man across the sidewalk. They both look too clean, their clothes absent of any stains or tears, their hair is washed, faces clean of dirt. Letting the sheer material fall away from my grasp, I turn around to face the woman in charge. Walking forward, I lean down, resting my forearms on the back of badly patterned armchair. "I don't want to be here, Deanna, I need to be. This isn't a world where you can be on your own anymore. Sure, you can survive, but you forget what it's like to…to be a human being. I need this place to hold onto that little shred of humanity that I have left, to let it grow. But I don't think you actually care about that. I think what you're really trying to figure out if this place needs someone like me. So let's just cut the formalities and get right to it, shall we?"

Deanna looks taken aback by my bluntness. Her bottom jaw opens and closes as if she's struggling to find something to say. When she can't her mouth closes, the edges tugged down into a frown. Deanna lets out a long sigh, crossing and uncrossing her legs. I stand, circling around the armchair before walking towards the bookshelves, picking one up and flipping through it before placing it down on a glass side table. For a moment Deanna and I just stare at each other, neither fully trusting the other.

"I can fight. I've lived out in the world since this thing happened. I've got a drive to protect people. I can go on runs for food. I mean I brought all that stuff back with me, restocked supplies you were out of. I'm sure I look a little rugged. I do believe your man called me feral, which I'm sure, was true at the time. I can work for my place here."

Deanna nods, "Yes, I can see that. Can you get along well with others though? I spoke to Daryl and he says you had a group. None of them survived?"

"I led a group of eleven from Baltimore Maryland to about seventy miles away from here. Up until we arrived in this area, all of them were alive. I lost one to a rather nasty version of the flu. The living or the dead took out the rest. Before that group I was part of a group of five headed to a safe-zone in Washington DC. I left them after the group leader suggested we start killing and eating other people. People are a scarce commodity and I fully believe we need to keep them alive, the good ones at least."

"You've killed people before." It's a statement. Deanna knows. Maybe it's in the way I carry myself, maybe someone told her. Deanna's gaze shifts from the floor back to me.

"Four. Two where members of a group that attacked my camp, the W's or whatever they call themselves. One was a man I met early on. The last was the man who gave me this cut. I'm sure you want me to say I regret it and that I think I could've handled the situations differently, but I don't and I don't see a point in lying."

"I appreciate the honesty," Deanna answers. "I'm going to let you stay, see how you integrate to the people here while you see our doctor and recover from your injuries. If you don't cause any trouble I'll find you a job here."

"And if do cause trouble?"

Deanna's piercing blue eyes come to rest on me. "Daryl will put you back where he found you. While you're here we'll give you a house to live in. You will be allowed to use our provisions. That animal of yours can stay as long as you keep it under control. The first time it causes problems it'll have to go. Go find Aaron, he'll get you situated in a home."

Nodding, I turn and head towards the doorway, only stopping as my fingers curl around the doorknob, "Deanna, I'm not going to make Daryl bring me back. I'm gonna show you I belong here."

Deanna gives me a small smiles, "I hope so. Have a good night, Blaire."

Daryl 

"And you thought bringing her in was a good idea?" Rick questions as we sit on his porch. He's got Judith on his knee, bouncing her up and down as she chews on the lid of a coffee can. "You know Deanna is goin' hold you personally responsible if she does anything stupid."

"Yeah," I answer, stretching my legs out over the porch railing, leaning against the pillar. "She ain't gonna be a problem, Rick. She's just scared and hurt. That cut she has is bad. It won't heal without a doctor."

"She's your responsibility, Daryl. I'm still not sure about these people and I can't keep an eye on her and them. You said Aaron didn't want to bring her here. What was his reason? Why didn't you just listen to him?"

"Said she looked feral. We found her all dirty and covered in blood. She looked like we did when he found us. I couldn't leave her, not how she was. She's steps away from losing it. She needs people."

"Not everyone can be saved, Daryl," Rick answers back his eyes shifting in the direction of the house next to us.

"This one can be." With that I lower myself off the porch railing and onto the grass. If Rick doesn't want to accept my decision to bring Blaire in that's on him. "Just give 'er a chance."

"Daryl!" Rick calls after me. For a second I think about ignoring him, but then decide against it. He's taking longer than the rest of us to adjust to this place and he needs to know that we're all still on his side, no matter what. "Bring her over for dinner. Carol's gonna make some more casserole."

Nodding, I head across the grass towards Aaron's house. I've not had a chance to talk to him since I made him leave me out in the woods. I want to make sure that things between us are all right. This job I've been given lets me keep up my survival skills and gives me an excuse to be outside the walls on a regular basis. I don't wanna lose that over this thing with Blaire. Knocking on the door, I wait for Aaron to open. He smiles when he sees me, inviting me inside. I accept, stepping through the doorway and following him into the living room, taking up a seat at the table.

"Deanna already talk to the girl you brought back?" Aaron starts.

"Yeah," I begin chewing on the inside of my lip. "Rick wants to have her over for dinner tonight."

"She's in the house across the street, with the red front door. Look Daryl – "

I cut him off, "Sorry I didn't listen to you back in the woods. She's gonna be all right though."

Aaron nods, folding his hands together on the table, "I should've trusted your judgment. I asked you to help me recruit people because of your ability to tell the good ones from the bad. Questioning you…I apologize. I just, I don't want to bring someone in just to have to send them away. I'm sure she's going to be an asset to our community here."

"Yeah." Getting up from the chair, I head towards the door.

"Daryl," Aaron calls after me. "We're going to be heading out again in a week or so."

Nodding, I pull the front door open, stepping back out into the sun. Up the street sits Blaire's house. She's sitting on the steps, her cat lying out on the grass. The brunette spoons a chunky white mixture straight from a container into her mouth. She smiles when she sees me, putting the spoon into her food. The cut across her face is now stitched up, some gauze covering the section above her eyes. "Deanna is letting me stay."

"Aaron said. Hey, Rick wants you to come by for dinner."

Blaire raises up her container, the spoon falling out and landing on the sidewalk. She frowns, picking it up and wiping it off on her pants. "I already ate. Thanks for the offer though."

Letting out a sigh, I walk forward, taking a seat on the step below Blaire. She glances over at me. "Look, the offer ain't up for negotiation. He isn't sure about you. It'd be good for both of us if you just came by."

Blaire stands, thumbs hooking into her front pockets. "And why should I care if Rick is sure about me or not? I'm not here to impress. So you can go back and tell him that I'm not coming. If he wants to introduce himself, I'll be right here cause I ain't got nowhere else to go."

I smirk as Blaire uses my words against me, motioning for her to sit back down. Once she does I drop my voice to a whisper, "One day, Rick's gonna run this place. These people ain't gonna last long under Deanna. You'd best be on the right side of things when shit hits the fan." Standing, I extend a hand to Blaire. "Now, how 'bout that dinner?"

Blaire glances at my hand before standing up, letting out three sharp whistles. The lynx that was lying out in the sun, hurries over to her, wrapping itself around her leg. "I'm going to shower first, ya know, make myself look presentable. This Rick character is obviously some kind of hot shot around here and I'd hate for him to see me looking like this." With that she turns around and disappears back into her house.

"Ungrateful," I mumble. Her and Rick aren't gonna get along if she doesn't lose the attitude.

Blaire 

Hot water runs over my skin, collection in a muddy puddle by my feet. I stopped showering after Patricia. I couldn't risk being that vulnerable without someone to take watch. My hair, made stiff with sweat and dirt, begins to feel soft and malleable as I work another round of shampoo and conditioner through it. I stand under the water longer than I need to, breathing in the steam and the gentle lavender scent of the soap. I rub my legs together, enjoying the smooth, just shaved feeling. Duke, who refused the bath I tried to give him, sits on the sink, staring at me from his side of the glass shower door. He's made himself more than comfortable here, taking up residency in the bedroom just across the hall. He came right in and crawled straight onto the bed.

I'm taking longer. After Aaron and I exchanged some rather forced conversation and he left me to my own devices I sat on the kitchen counter for hours, unable to make myself accept that this is where I live now. It isn't the house aspect; I've taken up residence in those plenty of times before coming here. Everything here is so clean. There isn't any evidence of the people who lived here before me. This place, Alexandria, its too clean…too rehearsed. Sitting on the marble countertop of the kitchen, I fought the urge to dirty the place up. This is my home now, I eventually told myself, I need to take care of it.

As I get out of the shower, I think about Daryl's threat. That's what it was, a threat. I am to go to Rick's. I can either prove myself or accept the fate of being considered no better than these people who can't accept the reality of the world we live in now. There are no other options, no way of getting out of or around it. That is how Daryl's group functions; you're either with them or against them. I guess that's how you survive now. For a few minutes I sit on the bed, wrapped up in a fluffy white towel wondering what would happen if I just got up and left. In the end I get up, pull back on the same jeans I arrived in and a soft blue t-shirt found in the top drawer of a dark wooden dresser pushed against the same wall as the hall door.

"Good as it's going to get, buddy," I mumble to Duke after drying my hair the best I can with my towel.

Before I leave I place another gauze pad over the section of my cut above my eye. The doctor, Pete, a blonde man who smelled too strongly of beer, stitched me up before I went to talk with Deanna. He didn't say much, just went about his business, instructing me to keep the top portion covered seems as it was the deepest section and would be more susceptible to infection. I left the infirmary with a baggie full of white gauze pads and a handful of little pink pain pills. The stiches make it hard to blink or chew or smile but I was assured I'd only have to keep them in for a week at most. It could be worse.

Aaron gave me a set of house keys, but as I shut the red front door, I leave them in my pocket. Nothing in there belongs to me. I had to turn over the guns I came in with and my knife isn't anything special. The only weapon I care about, a double-headed ax, is tucked up in the hall closet behind some blankets. If someone wants something inside this house they can have it.

I walk up the street, loose gravel from the road crunching under my boots. Aaron told me that Daryl and his group only live four houses away from his. At the time I didn't care, content on being left alone for the rest of the night. Now that I need the information, I'm glad I have it. I don't want to have to use Aaron as a source of information. I also don't want to just go wandering around this place. As I near Rick's, a simple white house with a front porch and a yellow front door, Daryl falls into step with me.

"Ya ready?"

I glance over at the bowman. He's also taken a shower and changed into a long sleeve shirt and black jeans. His hair is still damp, leaving a few wet drops on his shoulders. "I've not been given much of a choice."

Daryl turns, blocking my path. He glowers down at me, chest heaving. "Look here, Blaire. I didn't have to bring you here. You should be a grateful. Rick is a good guy; the people we're with are good people. It'll be better for you if they like you."

"No," I shake my head, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "Let's not lie to each other, Daryl. It'll be better for _you_ if they like me, isn't that right? Now, get out of my way, stop making threats, and lets go have some dinner."

As Daryl steps to the side I brush past him, keeping ahead of him as I walk up the steps of Rick's house. The dark haired man glares at me, obviously unhappy with me uncovering his little secret. He might think I'm weak now, but he won't for much longer. I'm good at fading into the background and observing people when necessary. Daryl went against Aaron's wishes and now he's in the hot seat. If I don't work out here it's on him; Deanna made that very clear in my interview.

Knocking on the front door I stand, chewing on my top lip as I wait for someone to answer. Eventually, it's pulled open, revealing a longhaired boy wearing a blue flannel. He eyes me before stepping out of the way and letting me enter the house, "Dad! Daryl and that girl are here."

A clean shaved man with a baby on his hip walks around the corner. A thick southern accent coats his words as he gives me a smile, "Carl, finish setting the table. I'm Rick Grimes."

"Blaire," I answer back, smiling at the little blonde who has taken Rick's finger and began sucking on it. "What's her name?"

"Ass-kicker," Daryl mumbles as he passes me, heading towards the kitchen where Carl and a woman with dreadlocks are gathered.

I let out a laugh, quickly trying to disguise it as a cough as Rick glances at me, his eyes narrowing. He glances over his shoulder at Daryl who shrugs, feigning innocence. "Her name's Judith."

"She's cute."

Rick gives me a nod before motioning for me to follow him into the kitchen. It looks used, a few stains on the white counter tops as well as dishes piled up in the sink waiting for someone to have enough time to clean them. This place feels lived in which calms my nerves. These are people just like me. We're all just trying to adjust to a life we thought we'd left behind. "This is Michonne and you met Carl at the door. The rest should be over sometime soon. Carol is bringing a casserole."

I smile at Michonne, extending my hand for her to shake. She glances at it for a second before reaching forward and curling her fingers around mine. "I'm Blaire."

As we drop hands a group of people push through the front door. Two men, one with red hair cut short and another with a mullet, and a woman in a flower print cardigan holding a white dish. The dish is set on the middle of the table as those who just arrived sit down, beginning to chat with each other as the front door swings open again, this time revealing a man and woman who appear to be a couple. They've brought cookies. By the time everyone is situated around the table there are twelve. I sit on a stool against the bar, plate in hand, silently going through everyone's names. Carol. Glenn and Maggie who are married. Rick. Michonne. Carl, who is Rick's son. Abraham. Eugene. Rosita. Tara. Noah.

"Sorry 'bout earlier." Daryl mumbles from his spot on my left. He's been keeping an eye on me all night. Although I think I've been doing an all right job at connecting with these people, his stony gaze still makes me uncomfortable. I don't like feeling as if I'm under constant scrutiny.

"Don't worry about it. How am I doing so far? Think I'll be on the right side of things?" I answer back, keeping my voice low. I have a feeling no one else in this group knows that Daryl shared the plan to take over Alexandria. I'm sure he wants to keep it that way.

Daryl takes a bite of his casserole, chewing slowly before answering me. "You're doin' fine."

"I'm going to go get some air." Placing my plate on the counter I give Rick a nod before slipping out onto the porch. As I shut the door I notice a dark haired female sitting in one of the rocking chairs. She looks up, giving me a warm smile. "Rosita?"

The woman laughs. "Tara."

"Damn," I answer back with a smile before taking the seat next to her. "There's so many of you. I swear I won't mess it up again."

Tara shrugs, "Did you get overwhelmed?"

"A little. I just want to make a good impression, ya know. There's just more people in that room than I've seen in months. I kind of feel like I've forgotten how to socialize. Dinner parties just seem – " I trail off, trying to find the right word.

"Weird?" Tara offers up. "I know. Everything's weird at first. It gets easier, more normal."

"How long have you been here for?"

"Maybe like a month. It feels like only a few days."

"Daryl told me that these people don't get it," I admit wanting another person's opinion.

Tara nods. "I don't think too many of them have killed let alone seen a walker."

Nodding, I begin to pick at a scab on my thumb, occasionally looking up, keeping an eye on my surroundings. I'm waiting for something bad to happen, for this whole happy community façade to crumble. Places like this don't exist without some kind of darker secrets. "How'd everyone in this group meet?"

Tara smiles though a hint of sadness lingers in her dark eyes. "I was with a group that attacked Rick's. I got left behind and Glenn found me. He could've killed me, but he didn't. We ran into Abraham, Rosita and Eugene. They said they were headed to Washington because Eugene knew the cure to this thing."

Turning to Tara I raise an eyebrow, "You believed him?"

"I wanted to have hope," she admits, avoiding eye contact.

"Hope is a funny thing, isn't it? I was with some people in the beginning; guy thought he could come up with a cure too. People let terrible things happen to them in the name of hope."

"Did you kill him?"

"Yeah. It's funny what hope can do to usually levelheaded people, especially in the case of a crisis. Did you ever really believe he knew the cure?"

Tara turns to me, her eyes finally meeting mine. For a moment we sit in silence, letting the conversation we shared sink in. This new world is funny. It brings people closer at such a fast pace. You learn quickly how to gauge who is to be trusted and who is not. After you've figured that out things just start spilling out of your mouth and suddenly you've told a perfect stranger all of your deepest thoughts and fears. It's incredible yet terrifying all at the same time. "I guess not. I just…I wanted him to be telling the truth. Not too many people do that anymore, tell the truth, I mean. At least not when you first meet them."

"Some people still do. Daryl did, and now I'm here."


	4. Slipping

Daryl

The sun sets behind the rooftops, casting elongated shadows out into the road. As the end of my cigarette continues to burn, smoke floating up in front of my face, I glance down the street towards Blaire's house. The upstairs light is on. Behind me, the front door opens, footsteps causing the wooden boards of the porch to creak a little. Glancing to my right, I see Rick taking a seat on the front steps. For a long while we don't say anything. I've not had a chance to talk to him about his thoughts on Blaire yet. Although the others seemed to warm up to her quickly, Rick could have a completely different take on how the night went.

"She's scared," Rick finally says, breaking the silence. "I saw her jumping at every little thing. Someone opened a cabinet or coughed and she reached right for that knife on her belt."

I drop the butt of my cigarette down into the bushes, "She ain't used to being around people."

"You said she was alone when you found her? Are we sure? Could there have been people hidden in the woods?"

"Naw. She was alone," I assure Rick. "We walked all along the edge of that property. If there were others I would've picked up some kinda hint of 'em."

Rick nods, "Why are you fighting for her?"

Letting out a long sigh, I glance back up at Rick, my fingers playing with the thin twine tied around my wrist. He holds my stare or a second before dropping it to glance at the bracelet. Beth told me to care, to try and keep living and to help others keep living. Something in the way Blaire turned and looked at me, reminded me of those words and I've not been able to shake them. I want to. I want to stomp the memory of that smiling' blonde out of my mind forever, but I can't. Everything reminds me of her; from the bracelet she gave me to the grass growing in the front yards here, to the stupid duck that swims around on the pond. She told me I was going to miss her. Beth was always right.

"We need people, Rick. _She_ needs people. Nobody can survive on their own no more. We gotta give a shit."

"Yeah," Rick nods. "Yeah."

Stepping off the porch, I pull out another cigarette, lighting it. Smoke fills my lungs, my chest burning. I soak in this feeling before letting out a sigh, the smoke twisting into the night. As I pass the pond in the middle of Alexandria, I stop, looking down at the glassy surface.

"You know those things will kill you?" the voice behind me causes me to jump, dropping my cigarette onto the grass.

"Shit woman," I grumble as I pull another out. "Don't sneak up on a man when he's trying to smoke."

"I didn't take you as someone who spooks easily Daryl Dixon." Blaire comes to stand beside me, her arms crossed in front of her. "I was on a walk and saw you and Rick talking on his porch. It didn't look like it was going very well."

"Shouldn't be spying on people," I answer back, taking a drag off my new cigarette.

Blaire stares ahead, eventually lowering herself onto the grass. Tilting her head back she pats the spot next to her before going back to looking into the water. As I join her on the ground she runs her fingers through the grass, pulling a few pieces up and examining them. The brunette is barefoot. I notice a flower and a date tattooed on the top of her foot. "It isn't spying if you're out in public, at that point, it's just observing."

"Ain't they the same?"

"No," Blaire answers, pulling her knees up to her chest and warping her arms around them. "Where do you live Daryl?"

"At Rick's."

"Out of choice or convenience?"

"He had room," I answer not understanding why she cares where I've chosen to lay my head. Deanna gave our group places to live and we split up accordingly. "What're you on about anyway?"

Blaire shrugs, "Just trying to make conversation. I can't be shut in that house anymore. Everything in it makes my skin crawl. It's like one of those fancy model homes they used to show on TV. I'm afraid if I touch something I'll taint it. I got home from dinner and some lady came by and asked if she could bring me a meal sometime. I slammed the door in her face."

I nod, understanding the feeling. These people here, they're inviting to the point of being overbearing. They can't understand why it's taking my group longer to adjust. They're going to do the same thing to Blaire. "Dig through the house. Open closets, look under the couch cushions, you'll find lil' bits of the people who lived there before. Break a plate or two."

Blaire glances over at me, raising an eyebrow, "Break plates?"

"Just a suggestion."

"You are something else, Daryl Dixon."

I smirk, flicking the butt of my cigarette into the pond, "Don't you forget it."

After a few seconds of silence, Blaire stands, offering me her hand. I wrap my fingers around her wrist, allowing her to help me up off the ground. I give her a quizzical look, not sure what she's doing.

"Let's go break some plates."

Blaire

After a moment's hesitation, Daryl follows me back up the street towards my house. Once inside, I pull open a few cabinets filled with various dishes. Pulling out a stack, I hand over a cream colored plate to Daryl before taking on for myself. He stares at me, as if he's not convinced I'll actually do this. Taking a deep breath I throw the plate to the hardwood floor, grinning as it shatters. My gaze shifts to Daryl. He's flipping the plate around in his hands. "Go on. This was your idea."

Daryl grunts before letting the plate fall from his hands and onto the floor. It lands on its side, rolling off into the living room. I follow the plate's path until it disappears before turning to look back at Daryl. He meets my gaze, frowning a little. Suddenly, laughter bubbles up inside of me, spilling past my lips. Grabbing another plate, I toss it at the wall. The bowman continues to stare at me, a quizzical look etched into his features. Nonetheless, he picks up a plate, throwing it at the same spot on the wall. It bursts into dozens of pieces. For a split second I see the corners of his mouth tug up into a smile.

Eventually, I collapse on the couch breathing heavy. Daryl doesn't loosen up as much as me, but there is a sparkle in his eyes, like he's slowly remembering a piece of himself that he thought would never return. He lowers himself onto the floor, head resting on the couch cushion next to me. Sliding my fingers over the smooth material, I let the tip of my fingers brush over the ends of Daryl's dark hair. His body jerks, the muscles in his neck tensing. I stop my movement but don't move my hand away. As he begins to relax my movement starts again. This time Daryl remains relaxed, allowing me to twist and untwist a few strands of his hair around my finger.

"Ya feel better?" Daryl questions, turning his head to the left so that he can look at me.

"Yeah. Thank you." I smile down at the bowman, removing my hand from under his head, running my fingers down the exposed skin of Daryl's neck. "I needed this."

Daryl sits up, curling his knees to his chest, picking his head up off the couch. I've pushed him too far and now he's shutting down again. Frowning, I place my hand back in my lap. The urge to ask what happened to him fills me but I force it away. Now isn't the time. The man sitting before me is fighting some kind of internal battle, which he needs to get ahold of before sharing it with someone else. "I gotta go."

"I'm sorry."

I get a grunt in reply as Daryl pushes himself up off the floor. Sitting on the couch I watch as the bowman walks through the kitchen, pulling my front door open and slamming it shut behind him.

"Shit." I run my hands over my face, fingers burying in my hair. For a while, I sit with my head in my hands. Eventually, I get up, beginning to follow the trail of broken places to the kitchen. Once there, I empty out the welcome basket I was given earlier, placing the broken pieces of ceramic plate in it.

I end up in the living room, laid out across the deep blue carpet. My eye stay set on an imperfection on the ceiling as tears spill down the side of my face. Hours later, my eyes burn and my head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. Duke nudges me a few times with his nose, meowing at me until I get up and open a pouch of tuna for him. As he eats I fill a glass with water, drinking it slowly. Looking around the kitchen, I let out a long sigh. The stove clock reads one thirteen. Dumping the rest of my water down the drain, I hurry up the stairs. Daryl's right. This house has to have some kind of history. I intend to find it.

By the time the sun begins to peak through the front window I've searched through the whole house, top to bottom and found quite a stash. Whoever lived here before the shit hit the fan was a closeted alcoholic. I discover a safe in the closet, prying it open with my ax. Bottles of rum stare back. There was also another stash of alcohol hidden in the crawl space under the stairs. In total I have about ten bottles of rum, most with only a sip or two missing. In the bedroom Duke claimed, I find a whole assortment of homemade mix CDs along with an electric keyboard.

The attic contains the most information regarding the old family. A few boxes full of photo albums reveal a mom and dad with two kids. They looked happy; like they'd achieved everything they wanted in life. Towards the end of the albums the mom disappeared and the dad started to look tired, the smile he wore in the early pictures gone. There is also a box full of playing cards and board games. I bring the stuff I found in the attic down into the living room. The games find a place on the bookshelf. A picture of the previous owners now looks down at me from above the fireplace. I burn everything else.

Sitting on the front porch I watch as the sun continues to rise over the top of the homes lining my street. The gallon size bag full of cereal I was given sits next to me, the top open, ready for me when I get hungry. I've always liked mornings, right as the sun is coming up, when the whole world is still sleeping. It's quiet and for those few minutes I always feel like I am the only human being on the planet. I smirk at this thought. I used to wish for something like this to happen so I could stop struggling to make ends meet, stop working for a boss who only saw me as a sex object. I guess people always used to tell us to watch what we wished for.

Reaching into the bag of cereal, I take out a handful, popping it into my mouth and chewing slowly. Off in the distance, a crow cries out, the sound cutting through the silence. Then, just like that, Alexandria springs to life. The doctor unlocks the infirmary door, squinting against the sun. A group of women walks past, chatting casually all wearing smiles.

"Pardon me for saying this, but you look like grade A shit." standing at the bottom of the porch steps is Tara along with the tall redhead I met last night at Rick's. I search my memory for a name but come up blank.

"It was a long night," I answer back taking another handful of cereal. "Do you two need something?"

"Abraham and I are taking the first shift in the tower and we saw you awake and came to see if you wanted to join us," Tara answers with a warm smile.

"The tower?"

"It is a lookout station just outside of the front gate. The guards take turns manning it. From up there you can see anything that might be coming our way," Abraham steps forwards, resting his foot on the bottom step, leaning down to rest his elbow on his knee.

Glancing up at him, I continue to chew the mouthful of my breakfast, swallowing hard. "As mentally stimulating as that sounds, I'm going to pass. You two have fun though."

Tara's smile falls as I stand, gathering up my things. My vision is blurred, thoughts fuzzy from multiple nights of little to no sleep. If I climb into bed now I might be able to fall asleep for a few hours. I don't want to lose that time to guard duty. "Blaire, what're you going to do instead?"

"Sleep," I respond before yanking the front door open and shutting it quickly, blocking out everything.

Daryl

Rick and Michonne wake up early, each dressed in their new cop uniforms. I pretend to be asleep as the two go through their morning routine, eating cereal with powdered milk and talking about this new home and the people living within it. As the front door shuts, I sit up yawning as I stretch my stiff limbs. Sleeping on the couch every night is starting to take a toile on me. Per usual, Rick has written a note, letting me now that Michonne and him have left to do their jobs. They'll be back late, ass-kicker's food is on the top shelf of the fridge, blah, blah, blah. It's the same thing every day. I don't even know why he bothers to write the damn things anymore. I know what I'm supposed to be doing. Who knew that the world would end and my role in things would be a glorified babysitter.

"Morning Daryl," Carl yawns, Judith on his hip. "She was crying. I think it's her teeth again."

Nodding, I pull open the freezer and grab a frozen spoon, handing it to Carl. "Here, let 'er chew on that."

Carl takes it, letting Judith stick the handle into her mouth. "Did you stay with Blaire last night? I saw you two at the lake."

"Naw. I was on the couch last night. You got school today?"

"No. Will you feed her so I can eat? Ron, Enid, and I are going to hang out at Ron's later. That's okay, right?"

Taking Judith from Carl, I pull her food out of the fridge, handing her a green bean. She takes it from me, chewing happily, cooing for another. I smile down at her, swaying back and forth. "There wasn't nothin' in your dad's note saying you couldn't. What'd you think of Blaire?"

Grunting, I move back over to the couch as Carl leaves through the back door.

Michonne comes home around lunchtime, relieving me of babysitting duty. We sit on the porch, passing a bag of potato chips between us. She seems to be adjusting to our new living situation fairly well. Michonne wants to give these people the benefit of the doubt. She feels like although they aren't the most skilled, they've kept these walls up since the beginning and that counts for something. I've come around to her point of view. "Tara came to talk to me today after her shift in the tower."

"And?" I answer, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

"She said her and Abraham saw Blaire sitting out of her porch. They asked her if she wanted to join them on guard duty. She told them no, that she was going to sleep. No one has seen her all day. Pete said she missed her appointment with him today as well."

Taking a drag off my cigarette, I twist around in the rocking chair. "She's just trying to adjust. I talked to her last night. She's overwhelmed. Come on, you know how these people can be."

"These people aren't an excuse for her behavior, Daryl. Rick made her your responsibility. I know that you saw something in her, but not too many of us have quite grasped what that is exactly. Now, Rick wanted to make you send her away after dinner, but I convinced him to give her a chance."

"She's just tryin' to adjust. I'll talk to her," I mumble back. "Don't know when we started turnin' people away because they're a lil' rough 'round the edges."

"There is a difference between rough and a liability. We both know that."

"Yeah. You home for good?"

"Yes."

Nodding, I stand up and flick my cigarette butt over the porch railing. "I'm gonna go talk to her."

Michonne nods as I walk down the steps, heading across the street towards Blaire's house. The red front door is shut, all the curtains pulled across the windows. Knocking, I wait a few seconds; listening for any movement within, when I get nothing I knock again. I want Blaire to work out here, but I'm beginning to lose faith in her. So far Blaire's not been doing herself any favors. I know what it's like to want to give up, but I pulled myself out of that place because I needed to. After another knock, I try the knob. It turns and I push the door open.

"Blaire!" I call through the house, standing at the bottom of the stairs. Our mess from last night has been cleaned up, every last object put back in its proper spot.

"Go away!" a weak voice sounds from the second floor.

"We gotta talk. Tara said something to Michonne." I answer back, taking the steps two at a time. At the tops of the steps is a white door, it's ajar and through the crack, I can see Blaire. Shoving the door open, I walk across the room. There is a bottle of rum sitting on the bedside table, still mostly full of the brown liquid. "You sacred or somethin'?"

Blaire keeps her back to me, "No."

"You been drinkin'?" I lift the bottle off the table as I come to stand next to Blaire's bed.

"No," the brunette answers quietly. "It doesn't help."

Nodding, I place the bottle back down, chewing on my thumb, "Good. Ain't nothin' but trouble."

"Do you have nightmares, Daryl? I close my eyes and relive the death of everyone I cared about and it makes me want to put a bullet in my brain. So, instead of doing that, I don't sleep. I'll stay up for days at a time. Eventually, my body just shuts down. I can sleep then."

Letting out a sigh, I sit down on the edge of Blaire's bed. She rolls over, her cloudy eyes meeting mine. Her face is puffy and tears still stream down her face. Although she's under the blankets, I can see that she's shaking. "You gotta stop, Blaire. Deanna ain't gonna let you stay if you can't contribute."

"Then kick me out."

"Don't wanna do that," I answer, reaching forward and wiping Blaire's cheek with my thumb. She curls her fingers around my hand, holding it to her face. I fight the urge to jerk away, taking a deep breath in through my nose and letting it out slowly through my mouth.

"Who gave you the bracelet?"

"Beth."

"What happened?"

"Some bitch shot her right in front of me. We were so close to havin' her back. She was right there 'n' then it just ended. I know what those nightmares are like. If I had just moved faster, shot first –"

Thin arms wrapping around my shoulders cut my thoughts short. Blaire has moved from her spot under the covers, her body now curled around mine. I breathe in her scent, soaking in the warmth she has to offer. Instead of going tense and shrugging her off, I melt into the touch, transported back to the day in the woods when Beth did this very same thing.


	5. Doubt and Apologies

Blaire

Daryl and I sit on the bed in silence. I unwrap my arms from around his shoulders, leaning my head against the leather vest he's wearing. My fingers trail over the exposed bit of his back tattoo. Although he originally tensed up, shrugging off my touch, he's now relaxed, breathing evenly. The tracing keeps me present. It's something concrete and real. The feeling of flesh against flesh is calming. I've both stopped crying, wiping the remnants of my hurting away with the bed sheets. "Will you tell me about her?"

"Who?" Daryl mumbles, his voice cracking a bit from the lack of use.

I crawl forward so that I'm sitting next to Daryl. Eyeing him, I tilt my head to the side a little, silently asking if it's okay if I rest it on his shoulder. Daryl gives me a nod. "Beth."

Daryl coughs, swallowing hard. He lifts his hand up off the bed, hovering it over my knee before returning it to the mattress. As he goes to do it again I grab his pinkie, placing his hand down on my knee. For a moment he keeps his fingers extended, only his palm touching my skin, then, slowly, he curls them down. We sit like this for a few minutes. "We met her after Carl got shot. Rick brought 'im to Maggie's dad's farm. Beth is Maggie's lil' sister. She was the biggest pain in the ass in the beginnin'. Tried to kill herself 'n' shit. After walkers took the farm we all ended up in this prison. She changed there, turned into someone I didn't recognize. Yeah, she was weak at the farm, but at least she cared. She quit carin' at the prison, least til' her dad died. When the prison fell we ended up together."

I nod, remaining silent. There's more he wants to say, I can tell by the way his usually strong jaw trembles as he holds back his feelings.

"She told me to stop actin' like I didn't give a shit 'bout all those people we'd lost. She hugged me just like you did today. She got taken. You know the rest."

"What do you miss most about her?"

Daryl smiles, lifting his hand off my knee, beginning to fidget with the blue cord tied around his wrist. "The way she held onto hope, even when she was hidin' it. She was strong 'n' it just took me too damn long to see it. She used to sing to lil' ass-kicker. It drove me crazy. I'd give anything to hear her sing again."

Lifting my head off his shoulder, I smile at Daryl. "You loved her."

The little spark Daryl got in his eyes while talking about Beth fades. The smile on his face melts away. "Don't matter now."

"It does Daryl, it'll always matter. Beth meant something to you and I think that's a beautiful thing, especially in the world we live in. What's the point in being alive if you aren't truly living?"

"Tell me about the people you lost," Daryl instructs, changing the subject. He's obviously not comfortable talking about his feelings.

Although I want to push the topic, I know now is not the time. Daryl isn't ready to have a conversation about his feelings for Beth. Instead of risking pushing him away, I accept the conversation change. "Well, Patricia was a lot like you described Beth. She was always full of life and clung to her humanity. She was naïve though. She trusted too easily and only ever wanted to see the good in others. I fought the hardest to keep her alive. There were others but –" I trail off, not knowing if Daryl really wants to hear about everyone. I've only ever mentioned Patty.

"Go on," Daryl prompts, placing his hand back on my knee.

I rest my head on Daryl's shoulder again, my finger tracing over a scar that runs from his knuckles to his wrist. "There were the twins, Shelby and Rachael. They were traveling with two men, Ben and Nick. Shelby and I didn't get along very well, but we wouldn't have gotten the rest to join our group if we didn't take her in too. Patty and I needed them. Ben was a doctor and Rachael was ex-military."

"What was the issue between you 'n' Shelby?" Daryl questions, his bottom lip disappearing between his teeth.

"She didn't think I should lead the group."

"Why?"

I let out a long sigh, "She thought I was under qualified."

"How'd she, ya know?"

"Both Nick and Shelby got bit. We amputated Nick's arm and he lived for a little after that. Ben was a pediatric doctor and never actually amputated something before. He waited too long. Shelby got bit in the stomach; there was nothing we could do. Rachael killed her. The group that attacked us took out Rachael and Ben and the others. The only reason why Patty lived is 'cause of the attic."

"Sorry," Daryl mumbles, glancing over at me. "What happened to you, before you was with that group?"

I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my shins. I've tried to block out the earlier days of the world ending. It's easier that way. I don't want to remember my time locked away in the basement or watching as people got lured to their death on the pretense of salvation. "It doesn't matter now."

Daryl accepts this answer, not pushing me for any more details. We fall back into a comfortable silence, the bowman's arm curling around my shoulder as a few tears spill down my cheeks. There's nothing innocent in this world anymore. Everything is broken. Most people have seen too much. Even if we wanted to, we can't go back. Sure, we can rebuild and try to start up a civilization, but the wounds are still there, left open and bleeding, the scabs never quite growing in properly. You either learn to keep a Band-Aid on things or you lose it completely. As I sit here, breathing in the scent of Irish-spring soap and cigarettes, I decide it's time for me to stick on the bandage.

"Everythin's gonna be all right," Daryl whispers, reaching forward and catching one of my tears. "You're gonna be safe here. Whatever happened before, ya gotta let it go. That's how we survive now."

I shift my head so that I can catch Daryl's eye, "Are you hungry? I have peanut butter and jelly downstairs. We could make sandwiches."

Daryl nods, "All right."

Daryl

Blaire pulls a thing of peanut butter out of the cabinet. While she grabs the other items, I screw the lid off, dipping my finger into the container. The brunette spins around as I pop the finger in my mouth, licking the peanut butter off. Blaire scrunches up her nose but she's smiling, which lets me know I'm not in any kind of trouble. "Don't even think about putting that finger back in there."

"Yes ma'am," I answer, watching as Blaire runs a knife full of jelly over some Wonder Bread. "They let ya have all this stuff?"

Blaire glances over at me, cleaning the jelly knife off under the tap, "The stuff we're using now is out of what I brought over. I turned in most of it, but I didn't know if Deanna was going to let me stay. I wasn't about to give these people everything I had. I swear I didn't keep much."

"Like ya said, it's your stuff," I reply.

After the sandwiches have been cut in half, Blaire leads us into the living room, pulling a brightly colored box off of the bottom shelf of the bookcase. I watch her as she shuffles through cards, occasionally breaking off a little bit of her pb&j and feeding it to Duke. Blaire seems to have improved drastically since our conversation earlier. She still looks tired, but she's laughing and has got her smart – assed sense of humor back. "What're you doin'?"

"Candy Land? Come on, I know you've played this before," Blaire raises an eyebrow at me, holding out a handful of colorful plastic pieces. "Pick one."

I pick up the green piece, "Naw. I ain't never played this before."

"I'll teach you. I promise it's easy. Put your piece on the start spot."

I do as Blaire says, eating as she explains the rules. I try and pay attention but my eyes keep dropping to the brunette's lips, watching as they move, occasionally pulling into a smile. She talks with her hands, the half of her sandwich she's holding waving around in the air. Her movements draw me in. She's like leaves blowing around in the wind. You don't want to look because you've seen it a million times, but in the end, you watch anyway.

I begin to wonder if it would be okay to let Blaire in. Taking down some walls and letting people see the softer side was something that self-help book told me to do. I did it with Carol, admitting that I was just as scared as everyone else. What if I could do the same with Blaire? She's so willing to open up to me about her problems and fears. Why can't I do that with her? I could trust her, maybe not fully right now, but a little wouldn't hurt.

 _"Really, her?"_ a voice behind me sounds. Glancing over my shoulder I see Beth, her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, that stupid yellow polo hanging off her thin frame covered by a white sweater. " _What are you doin', Daryl?"_

"Not now," I whisper back, trying to focus on what Blaire is saying.

 _"How could you? You don't even know her."_

"You ain't real."

A hand on my elbow pulls me back. I jump, coming face to face with Blaire. I can feel the heat radiating from her body. She's got a thin scar running over the bridge of her nose. Blaire's soft grey eyes are on me and she looks concerned. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm here," I answer back.

"You left for a little. Where'd you go?"

"Don't matter. Keep explaining the game." I prompt, not wanting to bring up my hallucinations with Blaire. I'm not sure how she'd react. I thought I got them under control. I've not seen Beth in months. I worked through that. This can't be happening again. Not right now. Things are starting to be okay. I can't slip back into the darkness. I just got out.

Blaire

I wake up early, taking a shower and changing into the white tank top I arrived in and a pair of denim shorts found tucked away in the attic. As I pass in front of the mirror, white scars and knotty burn marks stare back at me. It's all I can see. The evidence of a troubled childhood stands out against my tanned skin, taunting me, convincing me that I'm nothing more than these marks on my body. The blemishes fill my mind with doubt, telling me that I'm still that weak little girl. Pulling on a jacket, I hide the marks, their cruel whispers silenced. I continue to look at myself for a second, this time seeing my eyes and the cut that runs across my face. "You aren't that girl anymore."

Once I've fed Duke and slathered two pieces of toast in butter and jelly, I go out onto the porch, watching the sunrise as I eat breakfast. Just like yesterday Tara and Abraham stop by, inviting me to take the first watch with them. I agree, locking up the house before following them up the street towards Alexandria's gates. Deanna passes us and I make a point to smile and wave. I want her to see me making an effort around here.

"You don't happen to have any more of that toast, do you? Whole damn place is clean out of jelly." Abraham grumbles as the three of us cram into the top of the church tower, guns pointed out the windows.

Glancing down at the last half of my breakfast I hand it over to the man, "Come by my place later and I can give you a jar, but you have to promise to tell no one where you got it from."

Abraham nods, biting into the bread as he turns his attention back to the window.

"Where'd you get the jelly anyway?" Tara questions.

Pulling my gun out of the window, I take a seat on the wooden floor, "I brought it with me. I gave a few jars to the pantry and then kept the rest. Don't get me wrong, I see the point in contributing, but I don't want to have to leave here with nothing if Deanna decided I can't stay."

"We've got a live one approaching," Abraham announces, lifting his gun in order to use the scope to get a better look. "It appears to be Daryl."

"Daryl?"

In the distance, I can hear the bowman hollering up at us. Getting up off the floor I shoo Abraham away, looking out the window. Below, Daryl is waving his arms back and forth, continuing to call up to the tower. From the looks of him, he rolled right out of bed and came here. His hair is sticking up in a few places, and his vest is falling off his muscled arm. The same short sleeve shirt he was wearing yesterday sticks to his chest.

"Hey!" he calls up. "You seen Blaire this mornin'! She ain't answering her door."

"That's because I'm up here!" I call down, sticking my head through the window so that Daryl can see me. "Why were you at my house?"

Daryl holds his hand up, shielding his eyes from the sun, "Can you come 'ere?"

Tara grins, motioning for me to go down the stairs, giving me a wink as I pass her. "He obviously needs you for something."

Rolling my eyes I flip her the bird. Tara has been giving me shit about Daryl all morning. Apparently, he usually keeps to himself unless he's with Rick. Tara is convinced that him hanging around me so much means something. She didn't accept my explanation of Daryl being made my unofficial babysitter until everyone was sure I wouldn't screw something up. "I'll be back."

Daryl is standing with the door pulled open, his body casting a shadow over me. His crossbow is slung over his shoulder, a knife tucked into a holster on his hip. The darkened circles under his eyes prove he got little to no sleep last night. I wish he just told me what was bothering him when he was over yesterday. He helped me and I would have liked to return the favor.

"What're you doing here?" I question, crossing my arms in front of me. I know I screwed up the other morning, but that doesn't mean I need to be checked up on. I'm not some angsty teenager who's trying to rebel against society.

The man standing before me stumbles over his words, his tongue running over his bottom lip a few times as he tries to explain himself. "I just, the other morning. You didn't answer the door, I was worried that you - I thought - I was worried –"

"You were worried about me?" I question, grinning up at the bowman who is still stuttering, his gaze downcast, fingers working to crack his knuckles over and over.

"That ain't what I meant. Why're you out here anyway? Did Deanna put you on guard duty?" Daryl shoots back quickly, getting defensive. The constant pushing away is getting aggravating. It's like it's physically painful for him to let me in even a little. If I get too close he just shuts down.

"No, she hasn't given me a job yet, but I figured I should pitch in where I can. Besides, Tara and Abraham invited me along. It's not like I have anything else to do. What's going on with you, Daryl? Are you sure you're all right?"

"'M fine," Daryl's demeanor changes. There is a fire in his eyes, his muscles tense, and the vein running across his forehead becomes prominent as his skin flushes red. He's flipped a switch inside, the gentleman he was yesterday completely gone. "I don't need you tryin' to take care of me! You don't even know me. Stop actin' like you care!"

"You were the one who went to my house this morning! You're the one who came out here looking for me! Stop pretending like you _don't_ care, Daryl, because we both know its bullshit!" I step away from him, waiting for him to fire back. When he doesn't I spin around and head back up the stairs. What an asshole.

"Is everything okay?" Tara questions, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder as I re-enter the tower. "We heard yelling."

I shake my head, biting my bottom lip to keep myself from crying. I shouldn't care about what Daryl said. It shouldn't affect me, but it does. "I'm fine. I overstepped my bounds. He had every right."

"It is never a man's right to yell at a woman, no matter how angry she makes him," Abraham pipes up, pulling a dirt-covered rag from his back pocket and offering it to me. I give him a weak smile, taking the cloth and pressing it to my eyes.

"He doesn't want me to get close to him. It's in my nature to care. He saved me, I just want him to know I appreciate that" I explain, handing the rag back to Abraham.

"He'll warm up to you," Tara assures me. "He wouldn't keep coming back around if he didn't want you to keep trying. I think it's in Daryl's nature to push people away."

"You're just saying that because you think he has a thing for me," I laugh.

Tara holds up her arms in a gesture of surrender. "I just think that everyone needs someone now that the world has ended. Seems you aren't into girls, Daryl's not a bad option."

I roll my eyes at Tara. She's big on playing matchmaker. Her theory is, is that if you've got someone to go home to every night the world doesn't look so bad. I guess I kind of agree with her. I cared more when I knew Patty or the twins were waiting for me at home. When they died I stopped caring as much. It's nice to feel needed and like someone would miss you if you never came back. On the other hand, I understand why some people don't want to make connections. The world is unpredictable now. You could die at any moment. Being close to people makes you care. Caring can get you hurt.

Around noon two more people come to relieve us. Tara, Abraham, and I walk back through the gates. After we've handed our guns in the two follow me back to my house. Duke greets me at the door, raising up on his back legs and kneading at my thigh. I rub his head, shooing him up the hall so that Abraham and Tara can come inside. Tara proceeds into the kitchen, pulling out one of the bar stools and sitting down.

Abraham, on the other hand, has stopped in the doorway, his eyes wide. "What in tarnation?"

Tara and I laugh. I forget that not everyone knows about Duke. So far I've not had any issues with people begin afraid of him. "That's Duke."

"You've got to be shitting me. That's your pet?" Abraham questions, waiting for the lynx to disappear upstairs before he walks into the kitchen.

"Yes. He's been with me since he was a baby." I answer, pulling a jar of jelly out of the cabinet and handing it to Tara. "He's harmless I swear. The neighbor kid was petting him yesterday. He's a big mush."

Abraham gives me a nod, but I can tell he isn't convinced. "Deanna knows about him?"

"Yeah. She's not been by to see him in person, but she knows he's here. Deanna told me he could stay as long as no one complained and he behaved himself."

"Duke is a good animal, Abraham. Come on, let's go," Tara rolls her eyes at the man standing before her as she gets up and leads him back up the hallway. "Thanks for the jelly, Blaire."

"Anytime," I answer back with a smile, shutting the door behind the two.

The rest of the day passes slowly. I spend much of my time on the front porch, watching Duke chase bumble bees around the yard. A few of the neighbors stop by, welcoming me to Alexandria and asking how I'm settling in. I give them all the same generic answer about loving it here and being thankful for finally having a place I feel safe. It isn't that I don't feel that way. I'm just still not completely sure that this place is for me. Daryl's words play over and over again. They might not have meant anything, but they brought up doubts.

"You aren't that girl anymore," I remind myself as I stir around the mix of Spam and canned vegetables I decided to have for dinner. Although I've been enjoying the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I'm not sure I could stomach another one today.

As I eat, I pull out a sketchbook I found on another search through the house. The first few pages have been colored over, the dark blues and purples morphed into sunset and ocean scenes. Shoveling another forkful of my dinner into my mouth, I drag the pencil across the cream paper. By the time the pan is empty, I have two eyes staring up at me from the sketchbook. They're hauntingly familiar. Snapping the sketchbook shut, I toss it aside. Before heading upstairs, I place my dinner dishes in the sink. There's a pile forming and I make a mental note to take care of them in the morning. As I climb the stairs, I strip out of my clothing.

By the time I reach the bathroom I'm completely naked. Avoiding the big mirror over the sink, I flip the water on all the way to hot, huddling in the corner as I wait for it to heat up. Once the stream of water reaches an acceptable temperature I slide down the wall, letting the droplets roll over my head and skin. My fingers trace over the scars on my thighs and forearms; these are from fighting to live. I move from my arms to my torso, feeling the knotty scars peppering my collarbones and shoulders. Letting my hands fall, my fingers brush over a scar just above my right hip. Those scars are from people who wanted me dead.

"You aren't that girl."

I sit in the shower for much longer than I need, fighting thought after thought. Eventually, I find it in myself to stand and wash my hair and body. As the bubbles wash down the drain, I feel like a new person. I've scrubbed off today's doubt and now it can't bother me anymore. I'm stronger than any of that. Instead of drying off, I pull an old Slayer shirt out of my backpack, sliding it over my head. It's always been too big, hanging down to my mid-thigh. After pulling my wet hair into a bun and putting on underwear, I wander into the spare bedroom, flipping through the box of CDs.

Eventually, I come across one that peaks my interest and carry it, along with the player back into my bedroom. For a little, I just sit and listen, enjoying the familiar sounds of guitar and drums. Music was the one thing that brought my family together. We'd all sit in the living room, eating TV dinners, and listen to old school rock hits on dad's radio. I smile at this memory as I get off the bed and dance around a little. Duke watches me from his spot in the corner, his posture letting me know I shouldn't even think about making him join me.

As I spin around, I spot a figure moving out on the street. It's heading towards my house. Continuing to watch, I realize its Daryl. Rolling my eyes, I go back to dancing around the room, my heartbeat picking up as I heard the front door open and close. The stairs creak a few times, and then everything goes quiet. Spinning in a circle again, I notice a shadow lurking in the doorway.

"I can see you watching me. Don't be a stranger, join in," I jest, continuing to dance around to the CD I found.

From the doorway, Daryl hems and haws, stumbling over his words as he tries to come up with a good enough excuse as to why he's lurking around in my house. "I heard the music 'n' saw the light on. I just wanted to make sure you were okay –" Daryl's talking with his hands, the corners of his mouth pulled down into a harsh frown. Eventually, he gives up, hands slapping down against his thighs. "AC/DC's one of my favorites."

Duchess mewls at the bowman, who squats down to scratch behind the cat's ears. As the song ends I lean forward and pause the music before crawling across the bed. "Hmm, I hadn't pegged you as an old school rock fan."

"Why? You think I was just some hick so I only listen to country?" Daryl grimaces at me, straightening back out and leaning against the doorframe. I can tell he's trying to keep his temper under control.

"Your words not mine. You just seemed more like a metal fan to me, Mr. Dixon."

Once again Daryl grimaces, letting out some kind of guttural coughing noise.

"Why are you really here, Daryl?"

The man sighs, pushing the door all the way open before coming to lean against the metal bed frame. "Carol said I should say sorry for yellin' at you this morning. So, 'm sorry. You really should keep the door locked at night."

I grin at Daryl, finding his sideways way of apologizing and showing that he does care oddly endearing. "I heard you come in. Besides, if you had been someone I should be worried about, I have a gun."

Daryl coughs, scratching his arm, "Ya aren't supposed to have one. Deanna doesn't like it."

"Oh yeah," I crawl forward, putting my lips a few inches away from the man's ear. "You gonna tell on me, Mr. Dixon?"

Daryl flinches away from me, taking a few steps away from my bed. If he isn't the one to initiate the touch, he wants nothing to do with it. Even though I know this and Daryl has pushed me away because of it, I like trying to stretch the boundaries. Daryl and I seem to be stuck together, at least for now, why not try and take advantage of that time? "I ain't gonna tell no one. Just keep the damn thing hidden."

"Yes sir," I answer, giving him a salute before flopping down across the bed. "I still have some of that rum downstairs. Want to share a bottle with me?"

For a while it's quiet and I begin to think that Daryl has slipped out without me noticing. Sitting up, my eyes scan the room, searching for the bowman. I find him sitting on the floor; Duke curled up with his head on Daryl's boot-clad foot.

"Not sure that's such a good idea."

I let out a long sigh, climbing off the bed and taking a seat on the floor facing Daryl, "Why?"

"Told ya, it ain't nothing but trouble," Daryl falls silent for a second. "'n' I ain't always the friendliest drunk."

"So we won't get drunk." I offer up. "I just don't want to be alone, Daryl. You must know how that feels."

Daryl is quiet for a little, this fingers working through Duke's fur. His light blue eyes stay on me. I keep the eye contact, wanting him to know that it doesn't bother me. If Daryl is trying to intimidate me, or hoping I'll ask him to leave, I ignore it. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. In the end, Daryl stands. "One drink ain't gonna hurt nothin'."

One drink turned into half the bottle, which ends in finishing the entire thing. Daryl challenges me to a game of cards around drink four though it was quickly forgotten after Duke ran across the table, scared by his own shadow cast on the wall by the fire I started in the fireplace. This reduced Daryl and me into a fit of laughter. I've never heard Daryl laugh before then, but I've now made it my mission to be able to hear that lovely baritone sound as often as possible. When Daryl smiles I get butterflies. Maybe I'm just drunk.

"Teach me to shoot. Your crossbow, I mean," I blurt out sometime later, sitting up. Daryl and I are on the couch. He let me rest my head against his leg as we fell into another conversation about Beth.

"You ain't gonna like it. Its heavy 'n' has a wicked kickback." Daryl answers, turning to look at me.

"You don't think I can do it?" I challenge.

"That ain't what I'm sayin'."

"Then teach me."

Daryl groans, folding one of the throw pillows in half and sliding down the couch, his calves landing in my lap, "In the morning."


	6. Childhood

Daryl

As I go to roll over, trying to get more comfortable on the small couch, I fall to the floor, knocking into the coffee table. My legs become tangled in the blanket that I don't remember having when I fell asleep. Blaire's cat watches me, blinking its big yellow eyes as I try to untwist myself from the thin material. Glancing around I notice the playing cards, plates with half-eaten sandwiches and the empty bottle of Rum. I gave in and helped Blaire finish the whole thing. I was fine, not once feeling like I was going to start raging or lose control. I didn't see Beth. I let myself enjoy the night.

Picking up the dishes, I wander into the kitchen, searching the cabinets for anything other than peanut butter and jelly. Next to the refrigerator, I find a half-empty gallon bag of cereal. I dig in, looking around for packets of powdered milk. After a few minutes, I give up. The lynx follows me around, wandering back and forth on the counters after I've sat down. As he starts to head upstairs I call out to him. "Ya let her sleep. Come 'ere."

Once again I look through the cabinets. I'm not sure what Blaire feeds the thing, but he seems to be interested in the pouches of tuna. Opening one up, I dump it into a bowl, leaving it on the floor, watching as he eats. I can't help but wonder how serious Blaire was about me taking her out to learn to shoot the crossbow. We were both pretty drunk at that point. She could have been joking around. Getting out of Alexandria for a little doesn't sound like such a bad idea. It might do the both of us some good. I'd also really love to see how my bike rides.

After shoving the bag of cereal back into the cabinet, I head outside, sitting down on the porch. It's quieter down on Blaire's side of the street. Her house butts up to the end of the fence, no other building next to her on the right. A few people walk up the street, heading towards the center of the blocked off neighborhood. If Aaron and I bring in too many more people Alexandria will be forced to expand. Most of the houses are filled and the townhomes near the front gate aren't completed enough to have people living in long-term.

"Hey," Aaron jogs across the street. He eyes me before glancing at Blaire's house, his gaze settling on me once again. "Everything good with her?"

"Yeah. She's doin' good."

Aaron nods, "Well. I was hoping to head out the day after tomorrow. We can along the border of the red zone. See if anyone is hanging out around there."

"Sure. I'm taking the bike out today, see how she runs. I'll be ready."

"Good. We'll discuss plans later tonight. Dinner? My place?"

I nod, getting up with the aid of the railing. When Aaron doesn't say anything else, I let myself back into Blaire's house. Climbing the stairs, I push her room door open just a little with the toe of my shoe. The brunette is still sleeping, the covers shoved all the way to the end of the bed. I watch as her chest rises and falls with her breathing. She's got one arm thrown across the bed, the other curled over her head, fingers tangled in her hair. Blaire looks more peaceful than I've ever seen her before. As she rolls over onto her side, Duke runs into the room, jumping up onto the bed next to his owner.

Blaire stirs, her eyes staying closed as she begins to pet the animal. A small smile plays over her lips. I should go back downstairs and wait for her to wake up, but something holds me rooted to the spot. Blaire stretches out, her tanned limbs splayed out in all directions. I can see the tattoo on her foot, another peaking out from under her tank top that's ridden up, revealing the skin of her stomach.

"You know it's kinda creepy having someone watch you sleep." Blaire is sitting up now, her eyes fixed on me. The smile still sits on her face. She winks, letting me know she's only joking. "You could have woken me up, you know?"

"Thought ya could use the rest," I answer, walking across the room and sitting on the edge of Blaire's mattress. Unlike yesterday, she keeps her distance, hands resting on the bed next to her. "You still wanna learn how to shoot?"

Blaire nods, "I just need to eat and put some clothes on. I can meet you out by the car if you need to go get anything."

"We ain't takin' the car."

Blaire raises an eyebrow as she gets off the bed, digging through the black backpack she brought with her. "Are we walking?"

"Naw. I have a bike. I built it 'n' I wanna see how it rides before I leave." I announce, getting up off the bed as Blaire pulls out a shirt from her bag.

"You're leaving?"

"In a few days, won't be gone long. Aaron 'n' I are goin' out to try and find more people. I'll be downstairs."

Blaire joins me on the front porch a little while later, her backpack thrown over her shoulder, a partially eaten apple in one hand. I watch as she locks the front door, shoving the keys into the back pocket of her pants; that stupid middle finger patch staring up at me. Her t-shirt falls off her shoulder, revealing a long white scar. Blaire turns around and notices my gaze. She quickly fixes her top, swinging the other strap of the bag over her shoulder. "Your sure the bike can fit both of us?"

Nodding, I lead the way towards Rick's garage. Blaire holds the door open as I wheel the motorcycle out onto the street. Once I've gotten it started, Blaire drops the garage door, letting it hit the ground with a loud thud. For a second the brunette stands in the driveway, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Ain't got all day. Let's go." I encourage her.

Blaire frowns at me but nonetheless walks forward, swinging her leg over the back of my motorcycle. Her fingers curl around my shoulders, the grip tightening as I rev the engine. Once I'm sure Blaire is situated, I push off from the curb and head towards the front gate.

We ride quietly for a while; Blaire moves her hands from my shoulders, wrapping them around my chest, her chin resting on my shoulder. She asks if it's all right and I give her a nod. I'm supposed to be trying to let her in. Blaire finds some kind of comfort in physical contact. I know she isn't going to hurt me so I can be okay with it. I head towards the field Aaron brought me to when he was trying to catch that horse. It'll be an open enough area and hopefully be mostly free of walkers. Blaire's been seeing the Alexandria doctor and seems to be doing better health-wise. I've not seen her fight off more than one walker and don't want to get into a bad situation and have her freeze up or not have the strength to fight.

Pulling off the road, I shut the bike off. Blaire hops off the back, grabbing my crossbow from the holder I installed before I roll the motorcycle into the bushes, making sure it's hidden from anyone passing by on the road. Blaire watches me, shifting her weight from foot to foot. As I walk back over to her she offers me her hand, nodding a little as I stare at it.

"Jesus Christ, Daryl, it's just a hand. It won't kill you," Blaire says. She gives me another wink to let me know she's just giving me a hard time, but there is definitely an edge to her tone. She's trying to speed up the process of us being close. I can see in her stare that she knows she's pushing boundaries. Blaire steps forward, placing her fingers in the gaps between my own. "See, that's not so bad."

As we walk I glance down at our interlaced fingers. Blaire's hand looks funny in mine. Her skin is so clean and smooth. I've got scars running over the surface of mine, dirt caked under my nails and in the crevices of my knuckles. She'd look like she didn't belong in this world if it weren't for the scars crisscrossing her arms and the stitched up cut running down her face. As the brunette smiles up at me, I can't help but wonder how I look to her.

"How old 're ya?"

"Twenty – two," Blaire answers before frowning. "Well, I guess twenty – three now because my birthday was last month."

"Happy – " I start but am cut off by Blaire.

"Don't. Just teach me how to shoot this thing. Okay?"

Dropping Blaire's hand I move over to a tree, carving a circle with an X in the middle of it. The brunette watches me carefully, my crossbow resting on her shoulder. I keep an eye on her, judging how well she's handling the weight or if anything about her demeanor changes. I'm still waiting for her to collapse from trying to push herself too far too quickly. I talked to Pete privately and he told me that Blaire probably sustained a concussion in her fall. Her whole left side is covered in blue and black patches. He was positive she had some bruised ribs. I got roughed up enough as a kid to know anything to do with ribs hurt like hell for a while.

"So ya wanna load an arrow here –" I take the bow from Blaire and carefully slide an arrow into position, before taking it out and handing the weapon back to my companion. "Go ahead."

She balances to bow on her thigh, pushing the arrow up into position. Once she thinks it's good enough she glances over at me, silently asking if she did it correctly. Taking the crossbow from her, I check the arrow, handing it back, "Push it in further, 'til there's a click."

Blaire follows instructions, lifting the butt of the bow to her shoulder once she's clicked the arrow in place.

"Kinda like a gun now, just aim 'n' shoot," I instruct, watching as she levels the weapon, squinting her eyes a bit. "Watch for the kick-back."

Blaire nods her finger curling around the trigger. As she does this she separates her feet, placing one in front of the other. I watch her chest rise with the intake of her breath, and as she pulls the trigger, she lets out a sigh. The arrow hits within the circle. Blaire lowers the bow, turning to look at me; she's smiling. "How was that?"

"You're stronger than you look, smart-ass."

Blaire

Daryl lets me practice with his crossbow for a while. He even let me shoot at one of the dead ones, but I missed, causing him to take the weapon back. I wander off, sitting down in the middle of the field. My head, although starting to feel better, still causes me pain. Trying to keep good aim has started to give me a headache and I need to rest for a little. As Daryl joins me, I lay back, staring up at the clouds as they pass overhead. Reaching over the bowman, I take hold of his hand, beginning to trace the lines on his palm. I like that he's slowly becoming more comfortable with me initiating contact. I've missed being close to people.

"Why'd ya wanna know how to shoot this thing?" Daryl questions after a while.

"In case I ever have to. Who's going to babysit me while you're away?"

"Ain't babysitting you, but Tara 'n' Abraham'll be around," Daryl answers, digging the water bottle out of my backpack and screwing the lid off.

"If you aren't babysitting me, what're you doing hanging around my house, Daryl? Why do you keep agreeing to spend time with me?"

Daryl pulls a few blades of grass from the ground, tossing them away before looking over at me. "Don't matter."

"I hate that answer," I mumble, but Daryl isn't paying attention anymore. His blue eyes are clouded over, focused on something that isn't there. His lips move, but I can't make out what he's saying. I'm brought back to the other day in my living room. He went somewhere else then too. Sitting up, I reach forward, going for his cheek. He snaps out of whatever trance he's in, raising his arm up to block my touch. "Hey," I curl my fingers around his forearm, gently forcing it down so that I am able to place my hand against the side of Daryl's face. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. You left again."

Daryl's eyes lock on mine as he presses his cheek into my hand, letting out a shaky breath as I run my thumb over his rough skin. For a few minutes, Daryl closes his eyes, his breath warm against my wrist. "'M here."

"Where do you go, Daryl? And don't you dare tell me it doesn't matter, because I know it does."

"How'd ya get that scar on yer nose?" Daryl blurts out. Although I'm not pleased with him changing the subject, I let it go for the time being. He might think he's getting away with it, but I'm not going to give up. Something is obviously bothering him.

"When I was younger I used to wear glasses. One of the guys my mom brought around got upset because I wasn't listening to him. He backhanded me. The bridge of my glasses cut into my nose. We didn't have insurance. My mom went to the store and bought some cotton balls, tape, and super glue. I'm surprised it healed as well as it did." I explain, removing my hand from Daryl's face as my fingers trace over the thin white scar on the bridge my nose. Most people don't notice it.

"Yer mom dump him after that?" Daryl questions, leaning back on his elbows.

I follow suit, laying my head on my backpack, eyes once again fixing on the light blue sky above. In moments like this, it's easy to forget the world we live in. Everything seems so normal, so peaceful. I'm laying here next to a friend, sharing stories about being a kid; for these few hours, everything seems like it's going to be all right. "No, she staid with him for another month or so until she found him in her bed with another woman. My mom relied on men too much back then. She hadn't found herself. Then again, after she started making her own money she found my stepdad. He wasn't exactly a winner either."

"Tell me 'bout him," Daryl instructs, letting his body come to rest next to mine, making sure none of our limbs are touching.

"Another time. I don't want to think about that right now," I answer, sitting up as I hear a rustling in the field. A few yards behind us is a dead one, stumbling over the grass as it looks for something to eat. As I go to get to my feet, Daryl stops me, lifting his bow and shooting the thing in the head. "You avoided my question earlier."

Daryl frowns, "Sometimes I see her death again, that's all."

"You know it wasn't your fault, right? It could've happened even if you did stop that lady. If not at the hospital, somewhere else."

"Don't matter now," Daryl mumbles back.

"That answer is such bullshit, Daryl Dixon. The things that have happened in your life mean something. The people you care or cared about matter. They mattered yesterday and the day before that and they'll matter ten years from now. Letting them mean something is how you honor their memory. I don't care what kind of screwed up stuff happened to you before this. It made you who you are now and that means something."

"I ain't the guy I was before this started no more."

"You aren't supposed to be. If you got through this without changing I'd think you were crazy. No one is the same anymore. It doesn't mean the stuff that happened before doesn't matter. Sure, talking about previous jobs is stupid, but for some people, that's what made them, them. Now, tell me something about your life before. Please."

Daryl signs, leaning back on the grass. I stay sitting, glancing down at him as he begins to talk. "I had a brother, Merle. He was a piece of shit sometimes, but he was family 'n' I loved him. When I first met Rick, he told me they'd left my brother on top of a buildin' in Atlanta all chained up. I could've killed him, Rick, I mean. We went back 'n' Merle wasn't there. I thought he died, accepted that till we ran into him again. Merle ain't someone who was gonna change cause of this thing. He got bitten. I killed 'im."

I reach forward, placing my hand over Daryl's. "I'm sorry."

"Always harder when it's someone ya know."

I nod. "Yeah, it is."

"What about you? Ya got any siblings"

"I had a sister. She, uh, she died before all this happened." I answer, trying to skip over details. Daryl doesn't need to know how Claire died. My screwed up childhood isn't something I want to share just yet.

"What's the date on yer tattoo?" Daryl questions.

"That's my sister's favorite flower and her birth date," I explain. Even though she was only alive for about twelve years of my life, I was definitely closest with my younger sister. She was someone I could confide in, who truly understood what I was going through. I tried to protect her from the worst of our stepdad and in return, she taught me how to stay soft and innocent. I was devastated when the nurse at the hospital called to tell me she passed away. "Do you ever wonder what would happen if the world just fixed itself?"

"Don't think about it much."

"Why?"

Daryl shrugs, "Ain't gonna happen. There're other things I gotta think about."

"I guess."

"What 'bout you? Ya ever think about what would've happened if the world didn't end?" Daryl questions as I settle back on the ground. "Ever wish it'd fix itself?"

"No," I answer glancing over at Daryl. "If it hadn't gotten messed up in the first place I would have never met people like Patricia or Tara – " our eyes meet "– or you, Daryl Dixon."

"I ain't no one special. Could've done fine without me," Daryl says, dropping my gaze.

"No. I would've given up if you hadn't brought me back. We both know that. You saved my life, Daryl." I answer back. He doesn't just get to brush off what he's done for me. Sure, I could've kept surviving if Daryl and Aaron hadn't stumbled upon me in the woods, but for how long? I was ready to give up. I would've given up.

"I ain't keepin' you alive. Ya ain't gonna put that on me, girl. You're here 'cause you wanna be."

"Take responsibility for what you did, Daryl. You saw that I was broken and you brought me in. You sat with me and let me cry on your shoulder. You've opened up. You don't get to pretend like that didn't happen. You just don't. Broken souls always find each other." I stand up, begin to walk away from him across the field.

"Blaire!" Daryl calls after me. I can hear him gathering up our stuff, beginning to follow me across the field. "Dammit!"

Instead of turning around I continue across the field, raising my hand over my head and flipping the bowman off. He doesn't get to act like he doesn't care.

Daryl

Blaire continues across the clearing, ignoring my calls for her to come back. She's too damn stubborn for her own good. She thinks she knows me, but she doesn't. She thinks she's got everything all figured out. She's wrong. She doesn't know the first thing about me. _Or does she?_ The little voice in the back of my head sounds. _Admit it, Daryl, she's got you all figured out and you hate it._ Shaking my head, I try and clear my mind, eyes still set on the brunette who seems to be getting further and further away from me.

 _"Stop going after her Daryl! What does she mean to you? Why're you trying so hard?"_ Beth appears in my peripheral vision. She's blurry this time like she's only got one foot in this world. _"She's trying to make you forget!"_

I shake my head again, trying to clear my vision. A yelp up ahead causes me to pick up my pace, running through the trees towards what looks like another opening. I arrive just in time to see Blaire's head disappear under water. Dropping our bags, I kneel down on the edge of the pond. After a few seconds, Blaire resurfaces, pushing water out of her way as she gasps for breath.

"Over here!" I call out to her.

She kicks her limbs, going back under the murky surface of the water. Fingers curl around my wrist a few seconds later. I tug up, pulling the brunette's head above water before grabbing her under the armpits, dragging her out onto the grass. Blaire rolls onto her back, gasping for air. She coughs up a bit of water before regaining her breath. Once she's calmed down a bit she glances over at me, a smile creeping over her face. "Watch out for the pond."

Shaking my head I stand, offering my hand to Blaire. She takes it, letting me help her to her feet. "Ya hurt?"

"I'm fine," Blaire answers back, trying to put her weight on her right foot. She winces but takes a few steps forward, limping. I reach out trying to steady her. "I said I'm fine."

The brunette grabs her bag, beginning to hobble back towards the original field we started in. I follow behind her, ready to catch her if she starts to fall. Maybe Blaire's right, maybe I care. Maybe I saved her in the woods for reasons other than just wanting to preserve a human life. I didn't think she was when I first met her, but Blaire is a fighter; she just needed to be reminded of that fact. She's pushing me because she knows I need her to. "Will ya let me carry you?"

Blaire stops, eyeing me. For a few seconds, I think she's going to refuse, insisting that she's fine to walk. Instead, she nods her head, "Okay."

She puts her hands on my shoulders, pushing off of her foot leg. I help her up, hands going around her thighs. Once she's situated, I begin walking across the field. Blaire stays quiet, her thin frame rigid against me. As we near the place where I stashed the bike, I let Blaire down.

We ride home in silence. Blaire curls her fingers around my shoulders again. She keeps them this way until we reach Alexandria, not relaxing like before. Once in the gate, she hops off the bike, slowly making her way towards the infirmary. She refuses my offer to come with her.

Not knowing who else to talk to, I end up on Carol's porch. She opens the door before I reach the top step. She's wearing another one of those ridiculous sweaters. A stony look tells me she already knows why I'm here. Nonetheless, she lets me inside, offers me a cookie and a glass of water, and settles into the armchair in her living room.

"Did you two fight again?" Carol questions, crossing on leg over the other, her hands resting on her knee.

"She told me I saved her. I told her I ain't taking that responsibility."

"Blaire was telling the truth, Daryl. You brought her back here, which in a way was saving her life. Why don't you want that responsibility?"

"I don't want her to owe me nothin'," I answer, biting into the cookie and chewing as Carol stares at me.

"Daryl, what's the real problem?"

"Beth is back." I avert my gaze, not wanting to see the look on Carol's face. She'll understand, but she'll be disappointed. Carol thinks I'm stronger than all this.

"When?"

"Few days. Saw her in Blaire's living room."

Carol nods, taking a sip of water before answering. "What is she saying?"

"That I don't know Blaire. That 'm lettin' her in, but I shouldn't be. I didn't yell this time, Blaire didn't either. She just took off across the field we was at, fell into some pond 'n' hurt her ankle. She's stubborn as hell. Wants more 'n' I can give. She sees me," I ramble on, trying to make some sense of where my thoughts are heading. When I can't, I begin to chew on my bottom lip, hoping that Carol will have understood some of what just came out of my mouth.

"Does her ability to see you scare you?" Carol questions.

"Yeah." I chew on my thumb. "I don't wanna forget her."

"Oh honey, no one can ever replace Beth because she's in here," Carol gets up, placing her hand on my chest, over where my heart is. "Don't push Blaire away."

I shrug in response, "I'll just go 'n' apologize again. That worked last time."

Carol shakes her head. "I'm not sure that would work. She's turned you into her savior and you told her you weren't going to accept that role. Blaire is probably going to need some time to think things over. Right now you need to deal with seeing Beth again."

"What if I forget her?" I mumble, twisting the blue cord bracelet around my wrist.

"That's not possible, Daryl. Beth is always going to be with you-" Carol gets up, placing her hand on my chest, over where my heart is, "-in here."

Nodding I get up out of my chair, pulling Carol into a hug. She wraps her arms around my back, holding me in place for a few seconds before letting me go. "Thanks."

"Of course. Oh -" Carol wanders into the kitchen, pulling a tub of what looks like vomit out of her fridge. "- I've been hoarding my vegetable rations. I mixed this up for Judith. Will you take it to Rick?"

"Lil' ass – kicker ain't really gonna eat this," I answer back, holding the container up in front of my face.

"It's either this or the applesauce they keep dropping off. I know Rick is feeing her solid food, but she's barely got teeth." Carol answers back, pushing me towards the door. "Just give it to him, Daryl, and let Blaire come to you. No one likes it when a man grovels."

Nodding, I step out onto the porch. "Have a good night."

"You too, Daryl."


	7. Bodies in the Woods

Blaire

Almost immediately after I return from the infirmary, there is a knock on the door. I have half a mind to stay seated on the couch; my foot propped up on the arm and just let whoever it is go away. Yet, as the second knock comes, I get up and hobble to the front door, pulling it open. Outside is a woman in a floral print cardigan, a container of what looks like cookies held in one hand. I recognize her from the dinner party at Rick's.

"We need to talk."

"About what?" I inquire, leaning against the door. Pete assured me that it was just a bad sprain, but my ankle definitely feels broken. /p

"The women who I remember as Carol frowns, "Daryl."

Sighing, I move out of the way, allowing Carol access to the house, "Come in."

Carol follows me into the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the bar as I grab a glass of water and another ice pack from the freezer. Pete gave me a few of them from his supplies but made me promise I'd return them after my ankle was feeling better. He also sent me home with some more pain medication. "So what about Daryl did you want to talk about?"

"He came by to see me after you two got back, said you had a disagreement," Carol responds, leaving her statement open-ended, probably in hopes that I'll add on. What happened between Daryl and me today should stay between the two of us. "He told me that you think he saved you."

"He did. He was the one who decided to bring me back here." I answer, shifting around in the chair as I try to get comfortable.

Carol nods, "I'm not here to debate that point. How much do you know about Daryl's past?"

"He told me a significant amount about Beth. I know he had a brother, Merle, who he killed. He's not told me about it, but it's fairly evident that Daryl has had some history of abuse. Other than that I don't know much. He's not really someone who shares his life."

Once again I get a nod, "He told me that you see him. Do you know what that means?"

"I'm an observer, Carol. I'm good at reading people, figuring out the hidden meaning behind what they're saying or doing. Daryl's difficult, but I'm starting to pick up on things. He wants to be close to people, but something is holding him back. Whatever that is, it causes him to push me away." I respond, readjusting the ice pack on my ankle. "I'm not sure where all this is going though."

"Daryl is different, but I'm sure you already know that. He's tough as nails, but under that, he just wants a place to belong...a family. Daryl wants to have hope. Towards the beginning our group got caught in a herd, my daughter went missing. Even after everyone else wanted to give up, Daryl wouldn't stop looking for her. One day, he came back to camp with this flower and told me this really lovely story about it blooming for my Sophia. Up until we found her, he never doubted that she was still alive." Carol reaches her hand across the table, taking mine. "Daryl isn't the kind of guy that lets people in. He'll put you through hell before he's ready to open up, but once he does, once he trusts you, you'll be in his heart for life. Daryl needs someone who can put up with that, someone who isn't going to back down just because he gets angry and yells sometimes. Can you handle that, Blaire?"

"I'm not one to back down from a challenge. If Daryl is looking for someone to put up with his shit so be it. I just hope he realizes that I'm not afraid to push back." I answer, keeping my eyes focused on Carol's. I might not know him as well as the others, but I'm not just going to give up on the person who saved me. I owe Daryl and if the only way to repay him is to let him work through his issues by yelling at me, I'll put up with it. I'm sure I've been through worse.

"That's good," Carol answers. "Did Pete say your ankle was going to be okay? Daryl told me you fell into a pond."

I nod, letting myself relax now that I feel the conversation has become less serious. I even risk smiling a little. "I've never been the most coordinated person. Pete said it was just a sprain. I'm supposed to stay off of it as much as possible. We'll see if that happens."

Carol returns my smiles, squeezing my hand as she gets up, "Don't be stubborn. Listen to what Pete says."

"Oh," I get up off the chair, letting my ice pack fall to the ground as I hobble into the living room. "Daryl left his cigarettes here. Would you mind giving them back to him? I'd do it myself, but I think it's best I give him some time."

Carol nods, putting the package in her pocket before opening the front door. "Try and rest that ankle. If you need anything I'm the house right next to Rick's."

"Thank you, Carol," I answer, shutting the door after her.

Sleep comes easy.

The next morning I stand next to a van with Tara and a few other members of Rick's group. The power has been spotty since I arrived due to the supply being a prototype or something. Tara tried explaining the whole thing on the walk over, but I only understood parts of it. All I know is that this team is going out to try and find parts to keep the solar panels up and running. As we walk over to the garages where the cars are kept we pass Daryl and Aaron, headed out on their trip. According to Deanna, they could be gone anywhere from a few days up to a week.

"You're sure you don't want me to come along?" I question Tara as she climbs into the back of the van.

She leans forward and hugs me, "You just hold down the fort here. We'll be back by the end of the day. Stay off your ankle."

Letting out a sigh, I step back as the van's back doors are pulled shut and obnoxiously loud techno music is switched on. With Daryl and Tara gone, I'm left with a group of people I barely know. I've not done much to get close to the other members of Rick's group. They all seem to have their own lives here and I just don't see where I fit in. Tara reassured me that the others, though still cautious of new people, want to get to know me. I still can't help but feel like the odd man out.

"Hey, Blaire, a group of us are doing lunch at my house, you should stop by," a woman with shoulder-length brown hair smiles at me from her spot against the garage. I know she's with the Asian man but I can't remember her name. I think it starts with an 'M' or something like that.

"Sure. Should I bring anything?"

"Just yourself," the women answers giving me another warm smile. "We're in the first set of townhomes by the gate. Come by around two."

"Will do. Thanks – " I trail off wishing I had a better memory for names.

"Maggie." The dark haired women answers before turning and walking back towards the front of Alexandria.

Although Maggie told me I didn't need to bring anything with me, I load up my backpack with a few cans of vegetables and some chocolate spread before heading over. It isn't much, but I figure sharing what I brought with this new group might score me some points. When I arrive, the door is propped open, the smell of pasta sauce floating out into the street. It appears I'm one of the last ones to arrive. Rosita, Carol, Michonne, and Deanna are already situated around the table. I drop my bag at the door, deciding to give Maggie the food once Deanna has left.

"What happened to your ankle?" Rosita questions as I settle into the seat between her and Carol.

"I fell into a pond while I was out yesterday," I answer as Maggie puts a pot of pasta down in the middle of the table.

"Did you go out there by yourself?" Deanna asks, dishing up her plate.

"No, I was with Daryl. He was teaching me to shoot the crossbow."

Rosita huffs as she fills her plate with pasta. "He sure does spend a lot of time with you."

"Well, Rick did make him my babysitter," I answer. "I'm sure he'd spend time with you too if you asked."

Carol smirks as Rosita rolls her eyes, "I'm good."

"He's just trying to make sure that Blaire is settling in. We all know how difficult it can be to adjust to a new place after being out there," Maggie cuts in. "How are you doing with adjusting, Blaire?"

"The first few days were a little tough, but I'm getting used to everything. I hope to be able to start helping out around the community soon," I answer, glancing over at Deanna.

The woman smiles, "I'm still thinking about a job for you. From what I've heard you've been helping with guard duty."

"Yeah, Tara and Abraham have brought me out with them. I offered to go on the run today, but Tara told me they had it covered."Deanna nods, "It's good that you want to get involved."

Once everyone has dished up we fall into a comfortable silence. For the first time since I arrived in Alexandria, I feel like I'm being accepted into the group.

As the sun begins to sink, I start to worry about Tara and the rest of the team that left on the run. I don't think anyone expected them to be gone this long. After everyone else left the pasta lunch, I stay behind, offering to help Maggie clean up. She does a better job at concealing her feelings, but I can tell she's worried too.

"How long have you and Glenn been together?" I question as we move to sit outside. Alexandria's gate can be seen from the yard and Maggie keeps her eyes set on it.

"About a year now. He proposed when we were at the - " Maggie trails off as the front gate slides open, the van driving through.

Almost instantly I can tell something isn't right. The second the van comes to a stop the back doors are thrown open, two people getting out, a body held between them. Maggie and I take off towards the entrance. Glenn instantly embraces Maggie, the two holding each other for a few seconds before Maggie pulls away.

"What happened?"

Glenn frowns, "One of the walkers in the factory had explosives on them. It went off. Tara got hurt. We lost Aiden and Noah."

"How did this happen?"

"Not out here." Glenn glances over at me. "You're part of the group now, you should hear this too."

The three of us walk back up the street, only speaking again once the front door to Glenn and Maggie's townhome is closed. Glenn slumps down in the kitchen chair, his elbows resting on his knees, face in his hands. I sit quietly as Glenn tells us about Tara's head wound and how Aiden got impaled. He explains how the group tried to get him out, but that it just wasn't possible. The worst was hearing about Noah. I didn't know him, but Tara and he were close. Glenn tears up as he explains that the whole group could have made it out if Nicholas just trusted the plan. "I almost left him out there."

Getting up from the chair I've been sitting in, I look over at Glenn, "You should have."

Daryl

Aaron and I pick up on a trail about twenty miles from the edge of the red zone. Although Aaron originally wanted to stay along the boundary of the area, I convince him that most people within the set search area would have probably already found Alexandria. Eventually, he agrees to leave the safe zone. Aaron has been more exposed to the outside than the others in the community, but he's obviously uncomfortable being too far away from Alexandria. 

Now, as day two of our search for other survivors begins, I look down the length of my crossbow, a walker in sight. Breathing in, I pull the trigger, the arrow going into the side of the walker's head. Nudging Aaron, the two of us traipse through the woods. Up ahead, a pile of body parts is scattered over the ground. There are arms and legs, crudely cut, the blood still wet and leaking from the severed ends. I've never seen anything like this. Spinning around, I scan the area for the torsos. "Whoever did this took what was left with 'em. This just happened."

Aaron glances at the limbs, a look of pure disgust on his face. For a second I think he's going to vomit. Once I'm sure that Aaron is going to be okay, I lift my weapon, prepared to shoot anyone that comes at us. Whoever did this isn't someone I want to let go. Part of keeping Alexandria safe is taking out potential threats. After a second Aaron lifts his gun, following me forward through the trees. As we walk, I spin around, checking to make sure no one is trying to come up behind us. This just happened which means the people who did it could still be close.

Up ahead, I can see a body tied to a tree. For a second I think of turning back. These woods aren't safe and it isn't worth it for Aaron and me to risk our lives. Nothing good is waiting for us at the end of this trial of bodies. A woman, or what's left of one, is tethered to the tree in front of us. Her stomach has been ripped into, guts hanging down to her thighs. Blonde hair hangs down, acting as a curtain to cover the dead woman's face. Flies have gathered, buzzing around the open wound. What kind of sick bastard would do something like this? This is killing for the sake of killing. It's evident that this woman suffered. I want to leave, turn around and head back in the other direction, but I stay rooted to the spot as my companion takes a few more steps forward. He's not been out in the world to see things like this. Although it's evident the scene disgusts him, Aaron's curiosity has gotten the better of him.

"She's tied up. And they fed on her. Tore her apart," Aaron's words come out slowly. There is a crack in his voice almost like he's going to cry. "This just happen?"

I nod, looking the body up and down. There is blood still dripping onto the leaves under the body. "Yeah."

"How the hell did this happen?"

Ignoring Aaron's question, I step forward, taking a handful of the woman's hair and pulling her head up. There is a 'W' carved into her forehead. I remember Blaire mentioning something about the people that attacked her camp calling themselves that. This looks like the same group. As I continue to stare at the mark on her forehead, the corpse's eyes open, a snarl escaping her lips. Without hesitation, I bring my knife forward, stabbing the walker in the head. What happened to her was screwed up. Maybe now she's found peace. "Come on."

Blaire

I spend most of the night with Tara in the infirmary. During that time the stitches in my face are removed. I refrain from looking in the mirror, choosing instead to read to Tara even though I know she can't hear me. I don't want to see what my face looks like. I know there will be a scar. I'm just not sure I can handle looking at it yet. I've always been able to keep my struggle for survival hidden underneath my clothing. This one can't be hidden; everyone will be able to see it, to know I almost wasn't able to keep myself alive. I find myself longing for Patricia. She would have forced me to look, told me that just like the others, this scar told a story. Patty would have stood with me, her hand held in mine as I observed myself. She was always so good at helping people heal. I dwell on things too much.

Pete, who already smelled of alcohol when Tara was brought in, only stays until the sun begins to set. He assures Rosita, Eugene, and me that our friend will be okay. After the fifth time I fall asleep in my chair, Rosita insists that she's got everything under control and that I can go home. Although I originally protested, wanting to be in the infirmary when Tara wakes up, Rosita put her foot down claiming that I'd be in charge of taking the first shift in the tower with Abraham and that I needed my rest. There wasn't much I could say to argue with that. Although I didn't sleep well, it was still nice to lie down and relax.

"How is she doing?" Abraham questions the next morning as we climb the steps to reach the church tower.

I shrug; lifting the coffee mug I brought out with me to my lips, swallowing the bitter liquid before I answer. I miss having fancy coffee creamer available. "When I left yesterday she was still asleep. Pete said she'd be all right though. You should go see her, Abraham."

The man frowns at me, "I'll see her once she's out of the infirmary."

"She's your friend, Abraham, at least stop in for a few minutes."

"Is Eugene still there?"

"As far as I know. He was still there when I left last night. Did you see him at home this morning?" I answer. I know there is some kind of conflict going on between Eugene and Abraham, but I don't know all the details. Abraham doesn't strike me as someone who would hold a grudge for no reason so whatever happened must have been pretty bad.

"He's still with Tara. I'll just wait and see her when she's back home."

Rolling my eyes, I shoot down at a dead one who has found it's way to the wall. Its head snaps forward before it's body crumples to the ground like a discarded rag doll. "What is the issue between Eugene and you?"

"Has anyone told you why the group was heading towards Washington?" Abraham questions, turning around and hoisting himself up to sit on the window ledge.

"Tara mentioned that he lied about knowing a cure for this thing. Is that really what you're so upset about? That Eugene lied?" When Abraham makes no move to reply I continue on. "He was probably just scared, Abraham. I mean let's face it, guys like Eugene shouldn't still be alive. He probably just found you and saw that you were a survivor and hoped you'd buy his bogus story long enough for either you or him to die. People do stupid shit when they're scared. Besides, you probably wouldn't be where you are now if it wasn't for that story. Maybe by lying Eugene actually did you a favor."

"There were no favors done on his part. We lost people trying to get him to this imaginary cure, people who might not have died otherwise." Abraham counters.

I glance over at him, "Everyone runs out of second chances eventually. If it wasn't on the journey to Washington it would've been on another trip."

"Were you always this cynical?"

I shrug, watching as a group leaves through the front gate, "I was never an optimist if that's what you're asking. Look, all I'm saying is that people die in this world. It's painful as hell, but that doesn't change that they would've happened eventually. No one gets out alive, not before this happened and definitely not now. But that means we need to be more forgiving and accept that people make mistakes. Would at least talking to Eugene kill you? Maybe he's sorry for what he did."

"If he's sorry he would've apologized," Abraham answers, pulling a container of peanuts out of one of the many pockets of his pants.

"You are kind of intimidating Abraham, and Eugene isn't the bravest person I've met. He's probably scared you're going to beat him up or something," I grin over at the redhead, hoping he knows I'm just giving him a hard time. Not everyone is good at picking up on my jokes. I feel like Abraham is slowly starting to warm up to the idea of me being part of the group and I don't want to lose that. People around here seem to respect him and the opinions that he holds.

"I'll go to the infirmary after we're done here. If Eugene is there I'm not staying though."

Rolling my eyes I watch as the group from earlier returns back, the gates shutting behind them, "You can't hold a grudge forever, Abraham."

"Why?" Abraham questions.

"Because it's good to forgive people while you can. One day it'll be too late, and they won't be around to hear it."

 **Author's Note:** I apologize for Daryl's part being so short. I promise it will be longer come next chapter. I appreciate everyone who has read and voted for this story. Don't be afraid to comment, I'll respond to every single one I get. You are the best. :)


	8. Don't Stay Bad People Coming

Daryl

Aaron and I travel through the night, trying to put as much distance between the horrific scenes in the forest and us as possible. We only travel about fifteen miles before spotting a figure traipsing through a field wearing a bright red raincoat. The both of us decide it would be best to camp on the other side of the field, observing the individual from afar before approaching him. As the sun sets the mysterious figure disappears into the trees. Aaron is convinced that we've lost him, but I'm not so sure.

"If we see him we hang back, set up the mike, watch and listen," Aaron instructs as we set up camp for the night.

"For how long?"

My traveling companion shrugs, "Until we know. We have to know. Both of us this time, Daryl."

"You've sent people away before?" I question, taking a bite out of a piece of jerky I packed for the trip.

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"It was early on. It was three people, two men, and a woman. Davidson was their leader. Smart as hell, strong. I thought they'd work out. They didn't. I brought them in and I had to see them out. So, Aiden, Nicholas, and me we uh, drove them out far. We gave them a days worth of food and water and left them," Aaron's face falls as he explains what happened, his eyes showing just how much the event hurt him and still weighs on his conscious.

"They just went?"

Aaron glances down at the small fire we built, poking at it with a stick laying on the ground. He doesn't re-make eye contact as he answers me. "We had their guns. We had all the guns. I can't make that kind of mistake again."

I nod slowly, understanding where he's going with this. "That's why you wanted to leave the girl?"

"I don't want you to have to turn her out."

"That ain't gonna happen," I answer, getting up off the ground and throwing the fatty part of the dried meat into the fire. My temper flares, wanting me to lash out at Aaron for his mistrust of my judgment, but I don't. It's not his fault. Blaire isn't the kind of people that Aaron usually looks for. "Blaire's makin' friends. She's starting to become part of the community. She'll be fine."

The next morning Aaron and I spot our target. Lifting the binoculars to my eyes, I watch as the figure walks back and forth between the field and the forest. He never comes back with anyone else nor do I spot anyone else in the hours spent observing the individual. Aaron stands next to me, headphones on, the noise-enhancing device held in his hands. Besides some incoherent mumbling, the man does not talk. At one point he bends down, rubbing a plant substance over his face.

"What's he doing?" Aaron questions, sliding the headphones down around his neck.

"Wild leeks," I explain, shoving the binoculars back into my pack. We aren't going to find out much more about this individual just standing around and observing him. I'm ready to make contact. "Son of a bitch knows about how to keep mosquitos away. Come on."

I take off across the field, Aaron shouting out after me. The man in the red poncho hears, his head turning in our direction. I freeze, trying to crouch down in the overgrown grass, but it's too late. The man has taken off into the forest. Cursing under my breath, I shoot up, beginning to run after him. Aaron is at my heels. We chase him through the woods for what feels like hours, eventually moving to driving up and down the strips of highway running parallel to the forest. It seems as if the man has evaded us. Although Aaron wants to give up and head back towards Alexandria, I have a good feeling about this individual and want to keep looking. Per usual, Aaron gives in, driving his beat-up red car beside my bike. He only pulls off the road as we approach a fenced in area, food trucks pulled up to loading docks. The both of us stop, walking towards the gate. There are only a few walkers wandering around inside the enclosure. Those trucks would be easy to take and I'm sure they're full of food that Alexandria could most definitely use.

"We checked the forest. We checked the roads. We can't find him. Sometimes they slip away. It happens. But, you don't come across something like this every day."

"Home is fifty miles back. It's time to go. You saw the other day. There are bad people out here."

We know this place is here. We could keep tracking the man in the poncho. Once we find him we could circle back and collect these trucks. Hell, he'd be an extra person to help drive. Besides, if we were able to find him, the bad people out here probably can too. He could end up like that woman tied to the tree if we give up. "That's why we ought to keep lookin' for the good ones."

"We need more people," Aaron responds, turning to look at me, pleading with his eyes, "and we'll find them, but when we do, we'll need to feed them."Letting out a sigh, I pull my knife out of the holster, tapping it on the fence a few times, getting the attention of the walkers within. As one stumbles over, I stab it in the head through the fence. "All right."

Once Aaron and I clear all the walkers, he pulls the fence open. Although I find it strange that there isn't some kind of chain or padlock, I don't mention it. It wouldn't do any good. Aaron wants what's in those trucks and he's prepared to gather it by himself if need be. This isn't something that is up for discussion anymore. I've agreed to go along with this plan and now I need to stick with that. There are only so many times we can disagree before he starts bringing his partner out here again instead of me. Together we walk up the ramp to the loading dock. As Aaron heads to one end, I wander in the other direction. The trucks look completely untouched, a thin layer of dust covering the white exterior. Something still feels off. There are cans tied to the mirrors and corners of the vehicles. They look new, the twine holding them up not even partially worn through. People have been here recently. Maybe those people from the woods.

"Huh," I turn around just in time to see Aaron squatting down, digging the screwdriver out of his backpack. "Wasn't sure I'd ever see one of these."

Aaron stands back up, holding an Alaskan license place. He smiles at me, shoving it back into his bag. For someone who was so worried about needing to get back to Alexandria, he sure is taking his sweet time checking these trucks for supplies. Shaking my head, I turn back around, continuing in the opposite direction of my traveling companion.

"Hey, listen. I don't like giving up either, but the guy _is_ in a red poncho. You can see him from a mile away. We've gone a lot of miles here. No sign of him," Aaron states, trying once again to justify his side of things. "If we come away with a trailer full of cans I'd say that's a good trip."

Nodding, I bend down, curling my fingers around the rusted handle of the back of the truck closest to me, "Here we go."

The door flies open, revealing a trailer full of walkers. As they begin to pour out onto the dock the back of the other trucks spring open. All are filled with the dead. Aaron and I take off back down the ramp, set on getting to the gate. I look around, trying to find a direct path, but the area is covered. My heart hammers against my ribs as I stab a few of the walkers in the head, working on forcing my way through without getting bit.

"Over here!" Aaron calls out as he slips underneath the nearest truck.

Dropping to my knees I crawl under, breathing heavy as Aaron glances at me. There is a look of pure terror on his face as he realizes that we might not make it out of this alive. Glancing around, I spot a chain lying on the ground by my head. As walkers begin to make their way under the truck, I grab hold of it, slipping out the other side. Taking a deep breath I twist the end of the chain around my hand, swinging it over my head, bringing it down and through the heads of three walkers moving my way. Aaron has joined me now, his knife raised up by his head. A walker grabs hold of his backpack and he lets out a yelp, trying to twist around to stab it. Running forward, I slide my knife through its skull, pulling it out quickly as I continue through the crowd, Aaron on my heels. We fight our way through the group.

"Come on!" Aaron calls, hurrying towards a car sitting in the middle of the parking lot.

I rip the driver side door open, shutting it quickly as a wall of walkers piles up against the metal. Aaron manages to get into the car as well, struggling with a head that's gotten caught in his door. I keep my fingers curled around my knife, ready to fight off any that may try to get in before Aaron is able to shut the door fully. Once the walker's head has fallen to the pavement, my companion slams the door, falling back into his seat with a sigh. We sit quietly, each trying to catch our breath.

"The glass will hold for a while, right?" Aaron questions, staring at the walkers that have now surrounded the car.

I nod, beginning to look around for anything we can use to fight our way out or secure the car. I'm not going out without a fight. "Maybe. Maybe we can make it so they can't see us. In a couple hours something'll come by. They'll follow it out. There's gotta be somethin' in here we can use to block the view." I twist around, leaning into the back so I can slide my knife into the fabric of the seats. "We can cut up these."

When Aaron doesn't follow suit, I turn around. He's holding a note in his hand. As I read over it, I slump back into the driver seat. We don't have time to sit and wait this out. Across the crumbled up paper, written in blood is 'Trap. Bad people coming. Don't stay.'

Panic begins to grip me. Once again I twist around, trying to find anything that could be useful. There's nothing in this damn car. Frustrated, I turn back around, stabbing my knife into the dashboard. All this, all the fighting, all the loss and this is how it's all going to end. Despite the circumstances, I laugh.

"What?"

"I came out here to not feel all closed up back there. Even now, this still feels more like me than back in them houses. That's pretty messed up, huh?"

"You were trying," Aaron offers.

I nod, "I had to."

"No, you didn't. Listen, I saw you with your group out on the road. Then you went off on your own by the barn. The storm hit and you led your people to safety. That was it. I knew I had to bring your people back." Aaron glances over at me, frowning a little. "You were right. We should have kept looking for that guy in the poncho. I shouldn't have given up. You didn't."

Letting out a sigh, I dig into my pocket, pulling out the package of cigarettes Carol returned to me before Aaron and I left. As I slide one out, I notice black writing running the length of the paper. The words 'stay safe' stare up at me. Shaking my head I grin, letting the fire from my lighter lick the end of the cigarette. That damn girl. She's making it impossible to get away from her, even all the way out here. "I'll go."

"Aaron raises an eyebrow.

"I'll lead them out. You make a break for the fence."

"No. No. No." Aaron protests. "This way my fault."

"It wasn't a question," I respond taking a drag off the cigarette before moving it away from my lips, once again looking at the small black letters written on it, "and this ain't your decision. It ain't nobody's fault. Just let me finish my smoke first."

"No." Aaron insists. "You don't draw them away. We fight. We go for the fence. We do it together. All right? Whether we make it or not, we do it together. We have to."

Placing the cigarette back to my lips I breathe in and out for a little, just staring at Aaron. I didn't think he had the balls. Maybe he isn't as much of a pansy as I originally thought. Taking one last drag off my smoke I nod, chewing on my bottom lip. "All right. You ready?"

"Yeah," Aaron responds, lifting his knife out in front of him.

Grabbing my weapon back out of the dashboard, I throw my backpack over my shoulder. We can do this. We'll make it back to the gate. We're going to be home before dinner and I'll have one hell of a story to tell Blaire tonight over drinks. "We'll go on three. One." I curl my fingers around the door handle, taking a deep breath. "Two."

As I go to say three, the head of a walker is smashed against Aaron's window, the door being pulled open. A figure dressed in a jacket, wielding a stick motions for us to exit the vehicle as he fights off a few more of the walkers that have begun to re-gather. Aaron and I spill out of the car, fighting to get to the exit. My companion reaches the gate first, his fingers curling around the links, ready to push it shut as soon as the rest of us are through. The mysterious stranger is a few paces behind me, fighting off the walkers with his stick.

"Come on!" I call out as I reach the other side of the gate. "Let's go!"

The man runs forward, slipping through the exit just as Aaron slams the gate shut. Leaning forward I place my hands on my knees, working to catch my breath as I watch the walkers gather against the fence.

"That was...oh," Aaron chuckles, placing his hands on his head as he tries to regain his breath. "Thank you."

The stranger nods, taking out a cloth and beginning to rub the brains off the end of his stick.

"I'm Aaron. This is Daryl," Aaron says once he's able to talk normally again.

"Morgan," the man offers.

"Why?" I demand. For all we know this guy could be with the people who set this trap.

"Why?" Morgan responds, "Because all life is precious, Daryl." The man smiles at me, tapping his stick against the concrete.

"Whoever set that trap, they're coming back. But, I have good news," Aaron says, motioning between the two of us, "we do. We have a community not too far from here. Walls, electricity, it's safe. Uh, if you'd like to come join us."

Morgan smiles, pulling out a folded up map. "I thank you, but I'm on my way somewhere. Fact is, I'm lost, so – " the man hands the map over to me – "if you could tell me where we are."

I unfold the map, eyes shifting from the paper back up to Morgan. In the bottom corner is Rick's name.

Blaire

 _"The person staring back at me in the mirror isn't someone I recognize anymore. The mirror person's hair is too done up, the make-up caked too heavily over her skin. How did I get to this point? I thought coming to California would have changed things. I think I'm closer to losing it here than I ever was in Baltimore. This is my third job in ten months and it isn't any better than the others. The job description said bartender, not glorified stripper. The boss claims serving topless and giving the clientele lap dances on request helps keep business up. He's just a misogynist pig._

 _"Blaire, you're expected on the floor." A voice from the other side of the bathroom door sounds._

 _"Okay," I reply in a weak voice, never taking my eyes off of the woman in the mirror. I wonder what my mom would say if she saw me now._

 _"Blaire, now," the voice says, a fist pounding against the thin wooden door._

 _"I just need a second._

 _"We don't have a second. Now, Blaire!"_

The sounds of breaking glass and yelling pull me from my nap. According to Deanna, Alexandria is a relatively quiet community. She was proud to tell me that there hadn't been any major disagreements since very early on when the group was trying to decide who would be in charge. The commotion outside sounds like much more than a minor disagreement. Getting off the couch, I hurry upstairs, grab the gun I kept when I arrived and tuck it into the back of my pants before running outside.

At the top of the street, a small crowd has gathered around two men wrestling each other. Running forward, I quickly recognize Rick and Pete. They're throwing punches as a blonde woman pleads with them to stop. What the hell is happening? How did things escalate this quickly? Everyone standing around wears the same confused and shocked expressions, obviously not knowing anything more than I do. I don't know Rick or Pete all that well, but this kind of behavior seems out of character for both men. Spotting Carol on the other side of the street I work my way over to her, hoping that she'll know something.

"What the hell is going on?" I question once I reach Carol's frowns, pulling a boy behind her, shielding him from the scene, "Pete was hitting his wife. I think Rick may have confronted him about it."

Before I can say more, Pete rolls over, his fists making contact with Rick's face over and over. The blonde runs forward, pleading with Alexandria's doctor to stop. Pete lifts his hand, slapping her. As the woman falls, Rosita runs over, helping her get away from the fighting men. The brawl continues as more people gather out in the street. No one here knows what to do about the confrontation. Things like this don't happen in this community.

Carl rushes forward, tugging at his dad's shirt, trying to break the two adults apart, "Dad, get off!"

From what I've gathered from Maggie, Deanna is still uncertain about how Rick is integrating into Alexandria. She thought giving him a position of power would help him feel like he had some kind of say in things. This fight isn't going to do anything but hurt Rick. He needs to come to his senses.

As Carl gets pushed down, Deanna arrives, stopping just outside of the group that has gathered, "Stop it! Stop it right now."

Rick puts Pete into a headlock, sitting up on his knees to face Deanna. In his free hand is a gun, "Or what? You gonna kick me out?"

"Put the gun down, Rick," Deanna responds, keeping her tone even. I can tell by her body language that she's nervous.

Reaching around, I begin to un-tuck my shirt, preparing to pull out my gun if need be. Carol grabs hold of my wrist, shaking her head, "That will only make things worse. You keep that hidden unless you absolutely have to use it."

"You still don't get it. None of you do!" Rick calls out, waving his gun around as blood slides down his face. He looks like a madman. "We know what needs to be done and we do it. We're the ones who live. You, you just sit and plan and _hesitate_. You pretend like you know when you don't. You wish things weren't what they are. Well, you wanna live? You want this place to stay standing? Your way of doing things is done. Things don't get better because you...you want them to. Starting right now, we have to live in the real world. We have to control who lives here."

Deanna frowns, shaking her head a little, "That's never been more clear to me than it is right now."

Rick scoffs, pointing the gun towards his chest, " _Me_? Me? You – " The man on the ground laughs " – you mean me? Your ways gonna destroy this place. It's gonna get people killed. It's _already_ gotten people killed. And I'm not gonna stand by and just let it happen. If you don't fight, you die. I'm not gonna stand by – "

Out of nowhere, Michonne punches Rick in the temple, causing him to crumble to the ground. Once she's gathered his gun and Pete has been escorted to the infirmary, Deanna steps forward. "I want him patched up and then put in the unfinished townhomes. I'll need him under constant watch. I will deal with Pete."

"Go help Michonne with Rick, I'm going to make sure Jessie is alright," Carol instructs before leading the young boy who has been cowering behind her through the whole ordeal towards the blonde woman who was knocked away in the fight.

Walking forward, I join the circle of individuals that has gathered around Rick and Michonne. Amongst them are Glenn, Maggie, Carl, and a girl I've never seen before. Glenn helps Michonne get Rick to his feet, the two balancing the brunette man between them.

"Michonne and I will get Rick to the infirmary and then move him to one of the unfinished townhomes," Glenn announces as the two start walking forward slowly.

"I should go try to talk Deanna out of whatever rash decision she's going to want to make," Maggie announces before hurrying towards the main house.

Carl and the other girl begin to follow Michonne and Glenn, leaving me to stand in the middle of the street not really knowing what to do. As I go to head back to my house, Michonne stops, glancing back at me over her shoulder, "Judith is still at Rick's house, can you watch her?"

Nodding, I begin to head down the street towards the house where Rick is staying. Even if it is just a small part to play, I'm glad I have something to do. I want to make it known that I stand with Rick's group. Sure, Rick could have delivered his message in a better way, but I can't say I don't agree with what he said. Two people were lost on the last supply run and another was injured because of a lack of training on Alexandria's part. The people living inside these walls have no idea what it's like outside.

"Deanna wants to have a meeting to discuss my dad staying," Carl announces later that night as he walks through the front door. I spent most of the day alone with Judith, making sure she didn't choke on any of the toys they have for her. She's a content little girl all things considered.

"When?" I question, putting the book I've been reading down on the coffee table. Judith went down about an hour ago and it's been rather boring just sitting around. "Where is he now?"

"Deanna is having him stay in the unfurnished place for the night. Michonne is saying there. I wanted to be there when he woke up, but she sent me here to relieve you of Judith."

"I don't mind staying, she's asleep anyway," I answer as Carl takes a seat on the couch next to me. He looks worn down and frustrated.

"I don't need a babysitter. I can take care of my sister without you."

I frown a little, knowing the boy's words are coming from a place of aggravation and distrust. "I'm not here to babysit you. I also have no doubt that you can take care of Judith, but Michonne asked me to stay until she got back. I need your group to like me and see that I can be a team player. We can pretend like I'm not here though if you'd like."

"Why are you trying to fit in?"

"Because I can tell that your dad has got a strong group of people standing behind him. I can see that all of you really understand the world." I answer as Carl stares over at me. "I just don't want to be on the wrong side of things when the shit hits the fan."

"You have a gun," Carl announces after a few moments of silence.

"How do you know that?" I question. Although I wanted to, I hadn't pulled it out during the confrontation in the street. I don't carry the thing around with me on a daily basis, either. There's no way for Carl to know I have a gun in my home unless Daryl or Carol told him.

"I saw you reach for it today while my dad and Pete were fighting. Does anyone else know you have it? Why didn't you just turn it in when you first showed up?"

"I kept it out of habit. I've not been without a gun for a long time. Besides, I thought maybe I'd need it one day. It's better to have one and not need it then not have one at all. Deanna is stupid for not letting people carry within the walls. As for anyone else knowing, it's just Carol, Daryl, and now you."

Carl seems satisfied with this answer, sinking back against the couch arm, "My dad doesn't think you can hold your own."

I smirk over at Rick's son, "Not too many people do. That's how I've survived so long."

"By having people underestimate you?"

"Nodding, I pick my book back up, "Yup. In this world being underestimated gets you further than this tough guy act you've got going on."

"What if it's not an act?" Carl questions as Judith begins to cry.

"No one's that tough, Carl. Now, go check on your sister."

Carl gets about halfway to the stairs before he turns and looks at me once again, "Blaire, at this meeting, whose side are you going to be on?"

"Everything your dad said out there today is the truth, Carl. I'm going to stand with Rick."

I smile at the boy, "Even if it means I get kicked out too."

Everyone in Rick's group is on edge. Maggie spent most of last night and this morning with Deanna, trying to convince her that the fight in the street isn't who Rick is. Carol went to Rick's to try and coach him on what to say tonight at the gathering. Abraham, Rosita, and Tara have all started packing in case Rick is asked to leave. Even though Deanna will probably let the rest of the group stay, no one will. If Rick is kicked out the rest go with him. After I left Judith with Carl, Rick, and Michonne I go back home and pack up a few of my things. These people are my group now. If they go, I go.

As the day grows darker everyone gathers in Deanna's backyard. Chairs have been set up around a fire pit. Maggie, Deanna, and Deanna's husband stand at the top of the semi-circle of seats, watching as people arrive.

"Blaire, can I talk with you?" Deanna questions shortly after I've settled into a chair near the back.

Nodding, I get up, walking forwards to where Deanna is standing next to the fire.

"I've noticed that you've started to fit in with the people around here. You took the initiative and jumped right on guard duty. I like that trait in people." Deanna starts. "I think you'll make a fantastic addition to our community here at Alexandria."

"Thanks," I answer back with a smile. Despite everything that has happened or could happen it still feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I've been accepted.

"Also, I've come up with a job for you. I'd like you to be the town mechanic. Cars go out here and there and we don't have anyone who knows how to fix them. You could work out of your garage. I've also decided that in the event a group needs an extra person to go out with them, you will fill the spot. Does that sound alright to you?" Deanna continues on with a smile.

"Of course. Thank you," I respond before pulling the women into a hug and walking back to my seat. Despite my incompetent boss and the mild sexual harassment that came with being a female in a male-dominated field, I really did enjoy my time as an auto mechanic. Being able to use those skills, no matter how infrequently, will be nice.

Shortly after I've re-taken my seat, Deanna clears her throat, stepping forwards towards the fire, "We're going to start."

"Can we wait?" Maggie questions from her spot by Deanna's husband. "There's still people comin', Glenn, Rick."

Deanna frowns, "We're going to start. It's already dark. We're gonna talk about what happened; not the fight, not what precipitated it. We're dealing with that. We're gonna talk about one of our constables, Rick Grimes. We're going to talk about how he had a pistol he stole from the armory, about how he pointed it at people. And we're going to talk about what he said. I was hoping he'd be here."

"Hes _said_ he's coming," Michonne answers from a seat on the opposite side of the courtyard.

"I'm sure he'll be here and I'm sure we can work this all out," Carol adds on.

"Well," Deanna looks over the group of people who have gathered. Rick's group takes up most of the seats. Those who originally started in Alexandria are sparse, the majority of them being individuals who witnessed the confrontation. "While we wait for Rick to join us, does anyone have anything they'd like to say?"

Michonne is the first to stand. She turns and addresses the crowd, "Rick just wants his family to live. Who he is, is who you're gonna be - " Michonne turns to look at Deanna, " – if you're lucky."

Clearing my throat, I stand. Deanna might have offered me a permanent place here, but she needs to know where my loyalties lie. "Everything Rick said was the truth. Sure, he could've delivered it better, but he's right. We can't pretend that just because we're behind these walls, we're all safe. There are bad people out there who would try and take this place. Your people need to know how to protect themselves, how to do what has to be done. I get it, ya know, that isn't always easy. But it's better to come to terms with it all and be prepared before it's too late."

As Deanna goes to say something, Carol stands, cutting her off, "Rick Grimes saved my life out there. There are terrifying people out there and he rescued me from them. People like me, people like us, _need_ people like him. I know what happened last night was scary, and I'm sure he's sorry for that, but maybe we should listen to what he's saying."

Next is Abraham. He pulls himself out of his seat, placing his foot on the chair and leaning over, looking out at the others as he talks, "Simply put, there is a vast ocean of shit that people don't know shit about. Rick knows every fine grain of said shit and then some."

This just seems to confuse people, a whisper going up among the individuals from Alexandria. In an attempt to reign everyone back in and keep the conversation on topic, Maggie steps forward, her face illuminated by the fire. "My father respected Rick Grimes. Rick is a father, too. He's a man with a good heart who feels the things he does, the things he has to do. And all of us who were together before this place, no matter when we found each other, we're family now. Rick started that, and you won't stop it. You can't and you don't want to. This community, you people, that family...you wanna be a part of it too."

Deanna steps forward, glancing around at the group around the fire, "Before we hear from anyone else, I uh, I would like to share something in the spirit of transparency. Father Gabriel came to see me the day before yesterday and he said our new arrivals can't be trusted, that they were dangerous, that they would put themselves before this community. And not one day later, Rick seemed to demonstrate all the things Father Gabriel said. I had hoped Gabriel would be here tonight."

"I don't see him here, Deanna. So you're just saying what someone said. Did you tape him?" The blonde women who got hit during the fight questions, causing those in the crowd to begin to whisper again.

"He's not here," Maggie confirms.

Deanna sets her jaw, turning her gaze to Maggie, "Neither is Rick."

"Excuse me," Maggie answers back, obviously upset by Deanna's comment.

This whole meeting has turned into a he said, she said situation. We aren't going to get anywhere if Rick doesn't show up soon to defend his actions. Beating up a wife beater is one thing, waving a gun around is another. Without Rick's side of things, we're all going to sit here at each other's throats without any resolution.

"I just want to keep my family safe," a man sitting towards the front of the group announces. "You know? I don't even know what that means anymore, but if it means we've got to get rid of –"

He's cut off as a dead one is thrown down in the aisle between the chairs. Rick is once again covered in blood, breathing heavily. A few people get up and move away from the scene, others stare on in shock.

"There wasn't a guard on the gate. It was open," Rick announces.

"I asked Gabriel to close it," another member of the Alexandria community admits.

Deanna turns to him, fire in her eyes, "Go."

"I didn't bring it in," Rick continues on, addressing those gathered. "It got in on its own. They always will, the dead _and_ the living, because we're in here. And the ones out there, they'll hunt us. They'll try to kill us, but we'll kill them. We'll survive. I'll show you how. You know, I was thinkin', I was thinkin', how many of you do I have to kill to save your lives. But, I'm not gonna do that. You're gonna change. I'm not sorry for what I said last night. I'm sorry for not saying it sooner. You're not ready, but you have to be, right now, you have to be. Luck runs out."

"You're not one of us!" In the entryway to Deanna's backyard stands Pete, a knife held in one hand. I brought my gun to the meeting just in case and now, as Pete continues towards Rick, I pull it out, ready to use it if I need to.

Deanna's husband steps forward, holding his hands out in front of him, "Pete, you don't wanna do this."

"Get away from me, Reg," Pete warns, waving the knife in front of him.

"Pete, just stop," Reg continues.

"Get away," Pete shoves Reg backward, the knife sliding over the older man's throat.

Reg stumbles backward into Deanna's arms, blood spilling from his neck. Deanna is crying, begging for her husband to be all right, for someone to do something. As Pete continues to yell, waving the knife around in front of him, Abraham gets up, slamming the doctor against the ground. Although a few people have moved over to help Reg, it's too late. I can tell from the vacant expression in his eyes that he's dead.

Deanna is shaking, tears still streaming down her face as she clutches her dead husband to her chest. Looking up, she makes eye contact with Rick, who has his gun drawn. "Rick, do it."

In one fluid motion, Rick turns, a single bullet traveling through the barrel of his gun and into Pete's skull. As the realization of what has just happened washes over the crowd, I glance at the entryway to the yard. In it stand Daryl, Aaron, and a man who looks like his ideas of the world have just been shattered.

Daryl

Sitting out by the pond, I place a cigarette between my lips as I think over the scene I walked in on. How did things escalate? What led to all those people being gathered in Deanna's garden? Rick disappeared with Morgan, making it impossible for me to get my questions answered.

"You look like shit," a voice behind me sounds.

"Been a rough couple 'o' days."

"Wanna drink about it?" Blaire questions, shaking the bottle of alcohol in her hand, offering me the other free one.

Shrugging, I curl my fingers around the girl's wrist, letting her help me up before we head up the street towards her house. Once inside we collapse on the couch, the bottle being passed back and forth between us as I explain the events of Aaron and my mission.

"Daryl," Blaire breaks the silence after a long pause, turning her head to look at me as she hands the bottle of rum over. "I'm glad you made it back. If Aaron had walked back through that gate and said you'd died, I would've left."

I take a long drink from the bottle, thinking over her words. I wonder if Blaire truly means what she's saying or if it's just the alcohol talking. The last time we said anything to each other it was out of anger. She has no reason to be saying what she is. "Why?"

"I respect Aaron, but I wouldn't have been able to be here and look him in the eyes every day and know that he was the reason you died. He didn't want me here in the first place. He was content with leaving me behind. I wouldn't be in Alexandria if it weren't for you. I'm not staying if you stop being here."

I smirk at Blaire, screwing the lid back on the now empty alcohol bottle before placing it on the ground by my feet. "You say some pretty dumb shit when you're drunk, smart – ass. I ain't that important to you. If I go, you'll find some reason or another to stay. You're part of the family now, no ones just gonna let you wander off. Especially over me."

Blaire scrunches up her nose, "You keep telling yourself that, Daryl Dixon. You're important to me now, even if you don't want to be."

"That why you wrote on all my smokes?" I question.

"Maybe," Blaire answers beginning to twist a strand of her hair around her finger, refusing to make eye contact with me.

"How'd you do that anyway?"

"You slept on my couch. I don't sleep. I had hours of opportunity." Blaire drops her gaze, her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth. She begins to fidget, her fingers running over the couch again and again. "Sorry, I probably shouldn't have."

Reaching forward, I place my hand over Blaire's. Big grey eyes, slightly bloodshot from the alcohol, blink up at me. Once again, I'm drawn to the thin scar running over the bridge of the brunette's nose. "I ain't upset. It's kinda nice knowin' someone cares."

Blaire smiles, letting out the breath she's been holding, "Deanna officially welcomed me to Alexandria tonight."

Deanna saw what I did in Blaire. That feeling I had the day Aaron and I found her in the woods was right. Something about Blaire drew me in and keeps me coming back no matter how hard I try and stay away. A small voice starts to sound in my head, telling me I shouldn't feel this way, but I shut it down as Blaire continues on.

"Yeah. She gave me a job too. I'm Alexandria's mechanic."

"Well - " I answer back, scooting down on the couch so that my head is resting on the armrest. " – my bike still needs a little work. Why don't you help me with it in the morning, mechanic."

Blaire smirks at me, lifting my legs up so that she can get off the couch, "Are you sleeping here tonight?"

"Here's just as good as anywhere else," I answer before closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep. My dreams are haunted by images of Beth.

I'm awoken by the sounds of humming and the smells of food cooking. Rubbing my eyes, I stretch my sore limbs, pushing back the blanket that is now lying over my body. Blaire must have laid it out last night after I fell asleep.

"Good morning, sleepy head," Blaire says with a smile as she places a plate of food down on the table in front of me.

Yawning, I sit up, shoving a piece of what looks like spam into my mouth, "What time is it?"

Blaire shrugs, joining me on the couch, "Probably around eleven. The stove clock went out last time we lost power. I didn't bother fixing it."

"Why?"

"Time was created to make sure people got places when they were supposed to. We've got nowhere to be, nothing to do, but stay alive. I didn't see the point in having the clock above the stove remind me of that over and over again."

I glance over at Blaire, watching as she takes a bite of her breakfast, chewing it slowly. I wonder when she came up with all these ideas she has, all these deep answers to questions she didn't even know would be asked. Eventually, I decide that that's just who Blaire is. There are no simple answers with her. Everything has a meaning. Blaire, much like others I've traveled with over the course of the last few years, just sees the world differently than the rest of us. "You still wanna work on the bike today?"

Blaire nods, setting her empty plate on the table in front of us as Duke crawls onto her lap. "I don't have any tools or anything, though."

"We got 'em in the shed. Deanna wanted 'em to be open to everyone," I answer back.

"I need to get dressed."

Getting up I head towards the door. "I'll meet ya at Rick's."

Blaire waves a hand over her shoulder as she climbs the stairs, letting me know she understands. For a few seconds, I stand in the doorway, watching as she reaches the second floor and disappears around the corner. I only turn away when the voice inside my head begins to whirl into existence. Every fiber of my being is telling me that Blaire is a good person and that I should let her in. Yet, my brain seems to have gotten a different message, urging me to push her away.

"So what exactly is wrong with it?" Blaire walks up the street, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

"Just needs tuning up. That scouting trip was the first time it was out." I answer, pulling the rag out of my back pocket and wiping the sweat from my forehead.

Blaire nods, sitting down on the curb beside my bike. She picks up a wrench, passing it back and forth between her hands. "Are Aaron and you still going to go out looking for people? I mean, after what happened this last time?"

"Ain't no reason not to. Those traps mean we gotta work harder to find the good ones 'fore those pricks do."

"Do you think Deanna is going to want to bring anyone else in after what happened with Pete?"

I shrug, motioning for Blaire to give me the wrench she's playing with. I don't really need her help with the bike, but I like talking to her. She's curious about everything and genuinely wants to hear the answer given. Blaire doesn't let me get away with easy answers either. It's frustrating at times, but I'm sure it's what I need. After Beth I sorta shut down, Blaire makes me want to talk again.

"Would you?" Blaire blinks up at me, her gaze telling me that she isn't going to accept another shrug.

"We need all the people we can get. This place is big 'n' there's lots of jobs to do. Reg 'n' Deanna wanted to expand. Can't do that without people."

"Or do you just like being able to get out of here once in a while?" Blaire smiles, her nose crinkled up.

"Maybe," I answer back, squatting down next to the bike as Rick walks down the steps towards the two of us. I talked to him a little before Blaire showed up. Rick knows Morgan from before. I just wanted to make sure he was a good guy. "So, is he okay with it?"

"Due to what happened with Pete, Deanna didn't want Morgan just walking around Alexandria. They'd put him up in one of the half-finished homes towards the front, locking him in at night.

"It was pretty much his idea. He gets it," Rick answers stopping next to where Blaire is sitting on the curb.

"It's got a bed 'n' a bath, but it's still a cage, ya know?"

"He gets it," Rick says again. "He told me what happened out there with the trucks."

I stand up, wiping my hands on my rag, "He tell you about those guys he meet?" I motion to my forehead where the letters had been drawn on the others. "The W's?"

"Like the walker we saw, yeah."

"Those are the same people who came after my camp. The ones who gave me this – " Blaire runs her fingers over the scar that cuts across her face. " – They're stealthy, quiet. They don't mind waiting for the right moment."

Rick nods at the brunette's words, "We need more watchpoints. I'm gonna tell Deanna we don't need to go looking for people anymore."

I freeze, glancing at Rick. We need people, now more than ever. If those guys are as bad as Blaire has been saying, it's important to bring the good people to safety. If the W's attack Alexandria, we don't have enough people trained to fight them off. As I try to think of a way to argue my case, I bring my thumb between my lips, teeth working on biting down the already too short nail.

"You feel different about it?" Rick questions, hand dropping to where his gun should be.

I nod back, "Yeah, I do."

"Well, people out there, they gotta take care of themselves. Just like us."

I lower my gaze, eyes meeting Blaire's. The corners of her lips are pulled down in a slight frown.

"I'm gonna get him out. Shouldn't leave him in there any longer than we have to," Rick says before heading up the street.

Blaire stands up, narrowing her eyes at me, "You should've stood up for yourself."

I shake my head, squatting back down beside my bike, "Ain't worth it."


	9. Plan

Blaire 

I continue to frown at Daryl as he goes back to work on his motorcycle. It's like everyone is so scared Rick will snap that they're just avoiding all confrontation. Daryl wants to be out looking for people and he needed to tell Rick. Although it looks more and more like Rick will soon be in charge of Alexandria, he isn't yet. Deanna still gets to make the decisions. Daryl should have told Rick that he would follow whatever Deanna and Aaron want to do. Mainly, I feel bad because I know what it's like to be stuck in a cage. The walls surrounding Alexandria act as Daryl's cage. He needs to have an excuse to get out every once in a while.

"What? You upset with me?" Daryl questions, coming to sit on the curb next to me.

"No. I just think you should've stood up for how you felt." I answer back.

"Would you have?"

I shrug, "It isn't like Rick has a gun anymore. What's the worst he could have done? Gotten upset with you? Threatened you? You're stronger than him, Daryl. His judgment is clouded with anger and distrust. You need to show him that, because Lord knows if he's going to listen to anyone, it'd be you."

Daryl blinks back at me as if he doesn't quiet believe the words that have just come out of my mouth. I might not have been right on everything I initially thought about Daryl, but one thing is true; Daryl has no idea how strong he is or how much influence he could have on this group. Instead, he just hides in the background, silently observing everyone else. That's not what this community needs right now.

"Michonne…" Daryl starts, but I cut him off, not in the mood for excuses.

"Sure, I guess, but she's got Carl and Judith to think about. She needs to keep everyone else from falling off the edge. She can't handle everyone else _and_ Rick. Rick is _your_ responsibility, Daryl, whether you like it or not."

Daryl stands, once again using his arms as a barrier between himself and my words. If he wants to get upset with me and yell again, so be it. Carol told me he would be a challenge and I promised her that I wouldn't back down. Although I'm sure he should, Daryl doesn't intimidate me. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about, smart – ass."

"Do I not know or do you just not want to admit that I'm right?" I question back, getting to my feet.

The corners of Daryl's lips turn up for a split second before his face falls back into its normal, stony expression, "Maybe."

I smirk back, turning the bike key in the ignition, "Come on. I want to get out of here for a little." When Daryl makes no move to get on, I throw my leg over the motorcycle. "If you don't come I'll go by myself."

Daryl shoves the rag he's been holding back into his pocket, motioning for me to scoot back so he can drive. "Do ya even know how to drive one of these?"

Wrapping my arms around Daryl's chest, I nod, "I'm offended that you would even ask that question."

"Hold on, smart-ass."

Daryl drives until we reach the same field where I learned to shoot the crossbow. Together we walk out to the pond I had fallen into, both of us sitting down by the edge. I pick up a few pebbles, throwing them into the still water. For a long time the two of us stay quiet, enjoying the sounds of the nature surrounding us.

"Do ya feel trapped too?" Daryl finally questions.

"I guess. Even though I've been offered a permanent place in Alexandria I still feel like everyone is watching me. Sometimes, I just need to feel like I'm free." I answer back, turning to look at the man sitting next to me. "As surprising as this many seem, I didn't take a liking to people until all this shit happened."

Daryl grunts, the ghost of a smile playing across his face, "Where'd ya learn to ride motorcycles?"

"One of the guys my mom brought home rode them. I was sixteen as the time. He was one of the nice ones. He taught me how to ride and take care of them. Those two years were the most free and alive I ever felt." I answer back, lying down across the grass.

Daryl follows suit, his thumb grazing against my arm. He lifts it off the ground, tracing over a few of the scars that crisscross the skin there. "What happened? With the guy?"

I frown, fighting off the urge to pull my arm away. I don't want Daryl to ask about the scars there. Not all of them have a run in with the dead story to explain them. I'm not sure Daryl and I are close enough for me to tell him all about my troubled past just yet. "He had cancer. He proposed to my mom and she said yes. Then one day the hospital called and our happily ever after disappeared. It was probably for the better. He was a nice guy, trusting. He wouldn't have made it in this world."

"Ya ain't always gotta think about it like that. There 're a lotta people livin' now that ain't supposed to be makin' it in this world."

I turn my head so that I can look at Daryl, "It's the _only_ way to think about things now. You know that just as well as I do. Everyone who is dead now had some kind of quality that worked against them: trust, compassion, curiosity – " As I try to go on I choke, a few tears spilling down my face. Daryl rolls onto his side, wiping them away with the same red rag he was using on his bike earlier.

"Don't think 'bout that stuff."

"Tell me about a happy memory you have after this whole thing started," I challenge.

For a while Daryl is quiet, tracing over a few of the more prominent scars that cover my arm. He's far away right now, his mind lost in a different time. I watch as he chews on his bottom lip. "Was at the prison. Merle just returned. He was tryin' to change. Tryin' to be a part of the group there. It was the first time since the beginning that I thought we could make it. Our group coulda made a life there. Rick was growin' food. We had some animals. Maggie 'n' Glenn coulda had a baby there. People were ready to settle down, to stop runnin' for a while. It was the first time I thought we all might make it outta this thing alive."

"Yeah, but that got screwed up too. Just like everything else in this world," I answer as Daryl trails off.

Daryl nods, picking at the skin of his thumb. Once again, his bottom lip disappears between his teeth. After a second he reaches forward, brushing his hand against mine before pulling it away. "Ya ain't gotta think about it like that. We can't. Not if we wanna survive."

As I blink back at him, my resolve crumbles and I'm reduced to a crying mess. Daryl sits up, scooting closer to me so that he can wrap one arm around my shoulder. I melt into his chest, my tears soaking through his shirt. We sit this way for a while, Daryl's fingers gently brushing over the exposed skin of my arm. This reminds me of the day on the bed.

"Are ya really doin' better or are ya just good at pretending? You ain't gotta to be over their deaths, you just gotta stop feelin' guilty about 'em."

I sniff, wiping my face off with the back of my hand before looking up at Daryl. His gaze is gentle, concerned. He genuinely cares. "Some days are better than others. What about you? Are you over the deaths or are you just good at pretending?"

Daryl's face falls, his eyes resting on the bracelet tied around his wrist, "I'm doin' what I gotta do."

I curl in closer to Daryl, my arms wrapping around his ribs. He lets me, his body only going stiff for a second before he relaxes, his cheek coming to rest on the top of my head. "Do you think it ever stops being a struggle? To forget? To stop thinking about what more you could have done? To forgive yourself?"

Daryl lets out a sigh, "I hope so."

Daryl

Blaire and I get back to Alexandria as the sun begins to set. We'd sat out in that field for hours, both lost in our own thoughts, arms wrapped around each other. Beth floated around the edges of my vision. She'd stayed quiet this time, no longer shouting about how I shouldn't be letting Blaire get this close to me. At one point I looked down at Blaire and saw Beth in her place. I'd almost wished for their places to be swapped. Blaire's question stays with me as we walk, hand in hand, up the streets of Alexandria towards Rick's house. The weight of Beth's death still sits heavy on my shoulders. I could have staid with her. I could have shot first. I could have tried harder to find her. I'm not sure it's ever going to stop hurting, if I'll ever stop feeling guilty.

Blaire makes pasta, smothering it in red sauce. We sit in front of the fire, batting Duchess away from our food as he tries to eat out of our bowls. As I settle down on the couch, Blaire reads aloud from a book she's been working through. I fall asleep to the sound of her voice and the crackling of the fire.

" _You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon_."

I jolt awake. Beth is sitting on the coffee table, her big blue eyes blinking down at me. Her soft pink lips are pulled into a frown as she slowly turns, her gaze shifting to Blaire. The brunette is curled up in the leather armchair set by the fireplace. Getting up, I take the big red blanket I'd used last night and lay it over her.

"Do you like her, Daryl?" Beth questions as I move to the front porch, pulling out my lighter to light the end of my cigarette.

"She's hurt, Beth."

"That wasn't the question."

"Maybe," I answer back with a sigh. "I don't know her well."

"She's making you forget."

I shake my head, trying to get the apparition to disappear. Beth takes up a spot on the porch railing, her eyes never leaving me. There's accusation in them. "Ain't true. You wouldn't be here if she was."

"I'm barely here! You ignore me when I am!" Beth lunges forward, getting in my face.

"You're dead. You ain't supposed to be here!"

"Who are you talking to?" Blaire appears in the doorway, wrapped in the red blanket I'd laid over her earlier. There is a cup of coffee held in her hand.

I shrug, holding out my cigarette packet to her. Blaire shakes her head, lowering herself into the chair next to me, pulling her knees up to her chest. She takes a few sips from her mug before offering it to me. Tossing my cigarette butt over the porch railing, I take the cup. We pass the coffee back and forth between us until its gone.

"It's okay to tell me, Daryl. I'm not going to think differently of you." Blaire says softly, gently reaching over and taking my hand.

Swallowing hard, I run my thumb over Blaire's knuckles. I could tell her. Blaire has been through loss before. She is gentle and patient and would probably understand. I don't think she'd run away. But, we'd never be the same. Blaire would always look at me differently. She'd always wonder if I was still struggling. "I'll tell ya. I just need some time."

Blaire smiles over at me, squeezing my hand a little, "The food storage is starting to run low. I was thinking about taking a trip to my old supply place to see what is left."

"You should run it past Rick 'n' Deanna first. With everythin' that's been goin' on they ain't gonna want you out by yourself."

"It isn't that I don't want to be a team player, but my life isn't Rick or Deanna's problem. I can handle myself out there, Daryl, but – " Blaire looks over at me, a mischievous look in her eyes – "if you're really that worried about me you can come along."

Before I can agree to accompany Blaire on her food run, Carol comes up the porch steps. She glances at Blaire and my connected hands, but says nothing about it. "Daryl, Rick needs all of us. Something about a quarry Morgan and him found this morning. Blaire, would you be able to look after Judith until I get back?"

Blaire nods, getting up out of her chair, "Let me just go change."

With that the brunette disappears inside of the house, the front door shutting behind her. I glance over at Carol, waiting for her to share more. Instead she takes the chair Blaire was just in, letting out a long sigh. "Do you want to talk about the hand holding?"

I shake my head, "Naw. It ain't nothin' important. She does better when I let her. Somethin' about keepin' her grounded."

"You're helping her, Daryl. She looks more alive when she's around you…happier." Carol answers, giving me a smile, as Blaire exists the house.

The three of us head up the street towards Rick's house. As Blaire turns to leave our group I call out to her, "I'll fill ya in on what we talk about on that supply run."

Blaire turns, a smile lighting up her face. "Okay."

"Supply run?" Carol questions as we head towards Maggie and Glenn's house at the front of the community. "That isn't either of your jobs."

"Blaire has a place she used to get stuff from. She wanted to check 'n' see how much was left. Thought she could bring it back for people here. Didn't think she should go alone, not with everythin' Aaron 'n' I saw out there."

Carol grins, raising an eyebrow "Is that the only reason?"

I shrug as we walk into Maggie and Glenn's house, "Maybe I like bein' around her. What's this meetin' about anyway?"

"I don't know anymore than what I told you at Blaire's."

Once everyone has gathered around the kitchen table, Rick stands, glancing over the group. "Morgan and I were out this morning. We came across a quarry. It's full of walkers. Now, there are semi-trucks blocking the entrances, but the ledges they're parked on look unstable. I wanted everyone here 'cause we have to decide what to do."

"We need to tell Deanna," Maggie says from her spot next to Glenn. "This could affect everyone in Alexandria. They should all have a say."

"That's an option."

"What other choices do we have?" Glenn questions.

"We could take care of it ourselves. Clear out a small section at a time," Rick responds.

"How many walkers are there?"

"Enough to be a threat. The herd in there could take down the walls if they all came this way at the same time," Morgan answers, stepping into the middle of the room from the corner he's been lurking in.

"Maybe a few of us could go out there for a second opinion," Carol suggests. She looks worried.

"That's not necessary." Rick jumps in. "Morgan and I saw the herd. It _is_ a threat. That isn't what this meeting is about. We need to know what to _do_ about it."

"Tell Deanna," half the group choruses.

I glance across the table at Carol. Rick is still unstable. If the herd is as big as Morgan described it, our small group won't be able to handle it. Letting a few of them out at a time might work, but depending on the layout of the quarry and the stability of the trucks that could get out of hand quickly.

"If it's as big a threat as yer sayin' we should get others to help." I voice before getting up. "If you ain't gonna tell her, I will. We can't keep tryin' to do stuff on our own. We need people."

Blaire 

"So he really wanted to just try and handle it on his own?" I question after Daryl explains to me what Rick's meeting had been about.

Daryl nods, reaching over and taking Judith out of my lap. She smiles up at him, cooing as he runs his thumb over her cheek. I watch the two of them for a while. Daryl is good with Judith. He's patient and gentle, somewhat different from his usual tough persona. I wonder if he ever had a kid, but don't ask. We're doing better and I don't want to pester him to a point of him lashing out again. "Rick 'n' Maggie are with Deanna now. She'll probably hold a meetin' so everyone can talk about what we're gonna do."

"What do you think we should do?"

"If the threats as big as they're sayin' we gotta clear the quarry. I ain't seen it so I don't know."

I nod, letting out a sigh, "You'll follow whatever Rick thinks is best?"

Daryl looks over at me as he begins to bounce Judith up and down on his knees. She lets out a shrill giggle, "Rick is good at this kinda stuff. We'd all do well to listen to him. He'll have a plan. I don't agree with him always, but I will on this. He just wants everyone to be safe."

"Well, I'm in with whatever the plan is. If I don't get slotted with babysitting duty that is," I answer back with a laugh. Daryl knows Rick better than I do and if he trusts him with this so will I. Alexandria is my home now and the people here are becoming my family. I want them to be safe.

"She ain't that bad to sit with," Daryl responds, beaming down at Judith.

"Well then, you can stay with her and I'll go out and save the citizens of Alexandria."

I get a half smile and a look of concern. Daryl doesn't seem to like the idea of me going outside of the walls by myself. Although I've not figured out his motives behind this, it's nice to feel cared about.

"Blaire, Daryl, Deanna is having some kind of big meeting at her house; something about a threat to Alexandria. It seems pretty important. She wants everyone there." Tara huffs out as she comes to a stop in front of Rick's porch. Her chest heaves as if she ran to get here.

"What am I supposed to do with her?" I glance down at Judith who has shoved her fist into her mouth, drool running down her wrist.

Tara shrugs, "I don't know. Bring her."

Standing, I hoist Judith onto my hip, following Tara up the street towards Deanna's house. Daryl follows closely behind. The three of us enter through the front door, turning right into the living area. Rick's group is already there, sitting on the couch and various chairs that have been set up around the room. Daryl takes up a seat on the window seal. I sit down on the floor underneath the window. As more people file in, filling up the empty chairs and floor space, Rick begins to explain what Morgan and he saw while out earlier today. It's pretty much exactly what Daryl described earlier. There is a quarry right on the edge of the red zone full of the dead. The barricades put up aren't going to last much longer and once they fall that whole pit of walkers is going to be heading straight for Alexandria.

"My team, we saw it early on, back when we were on one of those first scouts, findin' out what was around here." a man named Heath says once Rick has finished his speech. "There was a camp at the bottom. The people, they must have blocked the exits with one of those trucks, back when everything started to go bad. They didn't make it. They were all roamers, maybe a dozen of them."

"No one's been back since?" Maggie questions from her spot next to Glenn on the couch.

Heath frowns, shaking his head, "DC, every town worth scavenging, is in the other direction. I never really felt like having a picnic next to the camp that ate itself."

"So all the while the walkers have been drawn by the sound and they're making more sound and they're drawing more in," Michonne explains.

Rick nods, beginning to walk everyone through his plan. He wants to move one of the trucks, killing off as many as we can before leading the rest of them about twenty miles or so away from Alexandria. This would require a group of about thirty individuals. While I understand there isn't any other option, the plan sounds shaky at best. There are a lot of moving parts. If one person slips up, if a few dead ones deviate from the path, we could lose the whole herd. Whoever agrees to help would need some kind of run through to ensure that it's even doable.

"Now, what I'm proposing, I know it sounds risky, but walkers are already slippin' through the exits. One of the trucks keeping the walkers in could go off the edge any day now; maybe after one more heavy rain. That exit sends them east, all of 'em, right at us. It's gonna happen. That's why we have to do this soon."

"This is, I don't even have another word for it, this is terrifying. All of it," Carol says from over by the door, her eyes scanning over everyone crammed into the living room. "But it doesn't sound like there's any other way."

"Maybe there is," a man says, stepping forward. "I mean, couldn't we just build up the weak spots? I could draw up plans. I worked on the wall with Reg. Construction crew, we can try and make it safe."

"And risk the lives of the people we're sending in there to construct this re-enforcement?" I question. "If there are as many dead ones as Rick and Morgan described it would be a death sentence to send anyone into that pit."

"Even if we could, the sound of those walkers is drawing more and more everyday. Building up the exits won't change that." Rick says quickly, avoiding any further conflict.

"We're doing what Rick says, the plan he's laid out," Deanna states. After Rick proved to be right about what should have happened with Pete, Deanna has been more willing to follow his lead. I think she sees now that he's just trying to do what is best for the people here.

"I told you all, we're gonna have Daryl leading them away," Rick continues on. This part of the plan seems ridiculous. Daryl can't be in charge of a whole herd. If something happens, if he crashes or dead ones start to leave the group he wont be able to do anything. I'd tried to bring this point up, but Daryl was quickly to grab my hand, shaking his head to silently tell me to hold my tongue.

"Me too," Sasha says, receiving a look from Daryl. "I'll take a car, ride next to him. Can't just be him. I'll keep 'em coming. Daryl keeps 'em from getting sloppy."

I smile over at the female, please that someone else is thinking like I am.

Abraham clears his throat, taking a step forward, "I'll go with her. It's a long way to white – knuckle it solo."

Rick nods, "We'll have two teams, one on each side of the forest helping with this thing. We're gonna have a few people on watch from now on; Rosita, Spencer, and Holly, so their out. Who's in?"

"Me." Michonne says almost instantly.

I shrug, "I don't see any other option. I'm in."

Daryl runs his knee into my shoulder, silently questioning me on my decision. I shrug back a response. These people are like my family now. I want to do what I can to help them out and make sure they all stay safe. If it means risking my own life so be it. I promised Patty that I wouldn't go down without a fight. This is about survival. We either do this or we risk getting overrun by the dead. Besides, since when did Daryl start caring what decisions I make?

"I'm in," Glenn announces.

Father Gabriel coughs, "I'd like to help too."

"No. Who else? We need more." Rick says, shooting Gabriel a glare. Everyone in Rick's group has been on bad terms with the priest since they discovered what he said to Deanna. I can't say I blame them. His comments could have gotten the whole group kicked out of Alexandria.

"There's got to be another play. We can't just control that many," the same man from earlier argues.

"I said it before," Rick responds sounding annoyed, "walkers herd up. They'll follow a path if something's drawing them. That's how we can get 'em all at once."

"So what? We're supposed to just take your word for it? We're all supposed to just fall I line behind you after –"

Rick cuts the man off, "After what?"

"After you wave a gun around, screaming, pointing it at people. After you shot a man in the face? After you –"

"Enough!" Deanna yells, causing everyone to go silent.

"I'll do it," A man standing in the hallway behind Carol states, getting everyone back on track.

Now is not the time to bicker amongst ourselves. Alexandria is at risk. We all need to ban together and save our home. We can figure out who should be in charge once everyone inside is safe from the current threat. For now, Rick is everyone's best option. He has a fairly solid plan and seems to be willing to risk his own life in order to save everyone elses'. In the current situation, that's about a much as you can ask from a leader.

"Me too." Another woman chimes in.

Tobin, a member of the building crew, nods, "Whatever you need. I'm in."

"Now, who else?" Deanna questions, her eyes traveling around the remaining individuals in the room.

"I'll go. We have to do this. I need to help." Nicholas steps up. I glare at him. He's the last person I'd want on my team. He obviously can't follow directions and is more concerned with saving his own skin than protecting everyone. He'll get someone else killed if he gets put on this project.

Rick turns to him, eyes narrowing, "You sure you can handle it?"

"You need people," Nicholas answers, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

Rick nods, glancing around, "We'll make this work. We'll keep this place safe, keep our families safe. We will."

The same male from earlier steps forward, his eyes narrow, arms across his chest, "The plan, go over it again."

Daryl sits up in the window ledge, going to stand up, "Man, he just said it."

I press my hand into Daryl's leg, urging him to stay seated. Once he's settled a little, I glance up at him. His temper is going to get him in trouble. We need to get these people to agree to work with us, not attack them.

The man, unfazed by Daryl's outburst, lays his eyes on Rick. "Every part, again. The exact plan."


	10. Decision

Daryl 

I don't see Blaire for more than a handful of minutes over the next few days. Despite her eagerness to aid in the project, Rick put her on babysitting duty. She's been stuck inside with Judith while the rest of us figure out how to rid the quarry of walkers. Rick stays on edge, constantly glancing over his shoulder, convinced the citizens of Alexandria will stage a mutiny at any time. I think he's overreacting. No one is going to try and take this place from us, not after what happened with Pete.

I try and keep Blaire up to date on the plan as much as I can. She stops to talk as she leaves Rick's, often becoming frustrated at the little amount of progress that's been made. "Well, if these people really want to stay safe, they'd stop fighting."

Letting out a sigh, I light a cigarette, "We ain't got a lot of choice. We keep running into roadblocks."

"Roadblocks?" Blaire responds, the frustration leaking through in her words.

"When'd you get this fire under your feet, smart-ass?" I grin over at her.

I get a half smile back in response. "If there are really as many walkers as Rick and Morgan were saying, we should be doing this as quickly and effectively as possible. Alexandria is at risk. If those dead ones get here, this community doesn't stand a chance."

"I'm gonna ask Rick to take ya off babysittin' duty. Ain't no point keeping someone who wants to help shut up in a house."

Blaire nods. "You should stop smoking so much, Daryl. You're going to kill yourself."

"Get some sleep, smart-ass. I'll see ya tomorrow at the planning meeting."

Stubbing out my cigarette, I walk up the steps, entering Rick's house. He is sitting on the couch that usually acts as my bed, Judith sitting on his lap. She's buried her head in his chest, fist curled around his finger. That little girl is who we're all fighting for. She deserves a life in this fucked up world. She's our future. Convincing Rick to take Blaire off babysitting duty is going to be hard, but if he knows that lil' ass kicker will still be safe he might be willing to let our newest member join in the planning.

"What do you need, Daryl?" Rick questions, turning his head in my direction.

Clearing my throat, I walk around the couch, taking a seat next to Rick. "Wanted to talk to ya 'bout Blaire. She wants to help, Rick. Her talents are wasted babysitting."

"I'm still not sure I trust her, Daryl. It's safer to have her in her watchin' Judith. I can keep an eye on her when she isn't out there wandering around." Rick answers.

"At least let her come to the planning meetings. Let her prove that she's all in. Blaire wants to help. Ain't gonna be able to show you that she's with us if you ain't willing to give her a chance. Carol said she defended ya at that meeting Diana had." I answer. Blaire hasn't caused any problems since she's been here. I understand Rick not trusting the people who live in Alexandria, but Blaire isn't one of them. She falls in line with us. She wants to survive and she knows how.

"I'll ask her to come join us at the meeting tomorrow. If I don't think she fits there, she's coming right back here. I need to know I can trust and rely on everyone involved in this project."

"Blaire's way more trustworthy than half those idiots you've got helping us right now."

The next morning I sit on the porch railing, watching as Blaire walks up the street. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail that swings back and forth as she walks. The injury that she came into Alexandria with has healed up, now just a thin scar cutting across her face. The shirt she's wearing is obviously one she found laying around her house, the bright pink not quite fitting into her usual style. I smirk as she grows closer, recognizing the jeans she's got on, the same one's as when I found her. That day is beginning to feel like a distant memory as the smart-ass continues to weasel her way into my life.

"Something funny you'd like to share with the class, Dixon?" Blaire questions as she walks up the steps, smirking back at me.

Shaking my head, I stand up, "Naw. Rick's letting ya come to our meeting today."

"Who's watching Judith?" Blaire questions, looking as if she can't believe me talking to Rick worked in her favor.

Shrugging, I open the yellow front door, "One a Tara's friends I guess."

"What'd you say to him," Blaire questions as we take seats at the bar stools. Michonne has already left for the day, as she is the only patrol officer Alexandria's got right now. Carl roams around the kitchen, pulling the fridge open a few times before settling on making toast. Used to Blaire's fully stocked cabinets, I guess I hadn't realized that supplies were getting low again. After we've figured out the walker issue it might be beneficial for Blaire and I to go check out her old supply store.

"Just told 'im you'd be better out there than in here. He knows we need all the people we can get working on this thing. Sometimes Rick's just stubborn."

Blaire grins as Rick walks down the stairs, "Seems like everyone around here has that problem."

"Blaire, Daryl." Rick says with a nod. "Blaire, I trust Daryl told you I'm intivin' you to our quarry planning meeting this mornin'."

Blaire nods, "He did."

"Good." Rick grabs one of the pieces of toast off Carl's plate, receiving a sideways glance from his son. "I will still need you to watch Judith later today though."

"No problem. Look, Rick, I appreciate being included in the planning." Blaire says as Rick leads us out the door and down the street towards a house where a few other people are already gathered.

"Ready for the shit show?" I whisper to Blaire as we take our places around a small table that's been set up.

Blaire cracks her knuckles, eyes shifting from me to the maps and Alexandria layout spread across the table. "Bring it on."

"Marshall and Redding," Rick starts, his finger set on a spot on the map. "We face 'em west here."

Deana, who has joined us for this meeting looks confused, "How?"

"We block it off so they can only go one way, west, away from the community," Rick explains. We've been going over this same part of the plan for a few days now. No one can seem to agree on how exactly we are going to keep the herd from heading straight for Alexandria.

"Block it off with what?" Carter questions. Why Rick hasn't kicked him off the planning comity I don't know. He's been nothing but a problem since the beginning. He doesn't trust Rick's ability to get us through this safely.

For a second, Rick stops to think. "Cars. We'll use the RVs, some of the bigger trucks, park 'em end to end."

Michonne who showed up a few minutes into the meeting, nod, "We'll be drawing them away. They're gonna keep moving."

"Yeah, but that many?" Carter questions. "Just bouncing off some Sedans? When they start slipping through and the ones that walk away start to distract the rest and you stop drawing them away?"

Blaire's fist makes contact with the wooden surface of the table. "Then we'll stick you out on the road as bait. If you don't like the plan then don't help. Rick doesn't need you here if you aren't one hundred and ten percent in."

With that Blaire gets up, disappearing up the street.

Blaire 

In what universe is it all right to criticize the only person with a plan? I don't see anyone else coming up with any better way of keeping Alexandria safe from the herd that could be headed our way any day now. One more big rain, that's what Rick said. If that's true we don't have time to keep fighting each other.

Deciding to start my shift of babysitting early, I head towards Rick's house. Inside I see a heavyset blonde woman sitting on the floor with Judith. She looks mildly panicked as if she's worried that the baby will keel over and die at any second. Her head shoots up as she hears me approach. The scared look softens, being replaced with one of relaxation. This woman knows that I've come to relieve her of Judith duty.

"Go ahead and leave. I'll take her. I'll let Rick know you did a good job," I say, offering a smile.

"Thank you," the woman answers, returning my smile before gathering her things and leaving.

Picking up Judith, I slowly spin her around the room, humming the beginning of a song I used to sing to my sister before bed. The baby coos, grabbing hold of one of my fingers and shoving it into her mouth. I get through the second verse before Carl walks in through the back door. He pauses for a second before walking over and kissing Judith on the forehead.

"My dad and Daryl are walking up the steps now. Don't let Daryl hear you singing. I don't mind it cause Judith likes it, but it reminds Daryl of Beth. He can't stand to hear other people sing now," Carl explains as he grabs a container of mashed vegetables from the refrigerator. "Mind if I feed her?"

"No," I shake my head, handing Judith off to Carl just as Rick and Daryl walk through the front door. Both of them look worn down, as if the meeting hadn't gone any better after I left than it was while I was there. "Did you reach a solution?"

Rick nods. "Carter didn't appreciate your threat to use him as walker bait, but he was a bit more cooperative after the comment. We're going to use left over metal plates and build up a whip wall. The building team is drawing up the plans today and then we're going to start the construction tomorrow. We'll need you out there to help watch for walkers. These people still don't know how or aren't willing to kill. You've been out there. You know what has to be done."

"No problem. We should drive the RV out there, use it to haul supplies and as a look out point. If these people are as easily spooked as they seem it'll be better to take the dead ones out before they get too close."

Rick nods his agreement. "Why don't you go and make sure it'll be all set to drive out there tomorrow. I'll stay here with Judith. The RV is parked at the end of the street, Daryl can show you."

"Okay. Come on Dixon, lead the way."

Daryl gives me a grunt, snatching an apple off the counter before leading the two of us towards the door. Before we exist the house Daryl grabs a set of keys off the wall, tucking them into his pants pocket. "Yer gonna get yourself in trouble smart-ass," the bowman says once we're outside on the street.

"How so?"

"Carter ain't the only one who didn't find yer comment funny. Yer lucky Rick is still willing to let ya work with us."

Rolling my eyes, I stop in front of a yellowing RV. The paint is chipping off in a few spots as rust begins to take over. The wheels are balding, but not bad enough to change them quite yet. I won't know how much the vehicle will be able to haul until I've had a look at the engine. "Your fearless leader Rick is slowly starting to realize that he needs more people like me within his ranks. He's going to start including me as long as I keep proving that I stand with his group. As long as you keep giving him little nudges, that is."

The bowman smirks, his eyes scanning over the junky vehicle in front of him. It's obvious he's not convinced that this thing can make it the ten or so miles it'll take to get to the construction area. Nonetheless, I've not given up on it quite yet. Old vehicles run fine as long as you take care of them. I can feel Daryl's eyes on me as I climb onto the front bumper, feeling around for the latch to release the hood.

"That shit you wrote on my cigarettes with ain't gonna kill me, is it?" Daryl questions, as I prop the hood of the RV up on the little metal rod installed within the vehicle.

Turning to him, I lift an eyebrow, staring as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, teeth working at his bottom lip. If he's not careful he's eventually going to eat the soft pink skin right off his face. "Seriously? Out of all the things that could kill you, you're worried about a little Sharpie? If you ask me that'd be a pretty relaxing way to go."

"I ain't about to live through all this shit just to be offed by some ink," Daryl responds back, his temper showing up in his tone.

"I think you'll be fine," I answer, turning my attention back to the RV's engine. Although there is some rust beginning to form across the metal parts, it doesn't look too bad. A crack in the radiator catches my attention. It's small and thin, but will eventually grow. Before all this, I'd call a shop in some big town, request the part, and have the radiator replaced in no more than a day. Now, this crack will eventually put the van out of commission. Deciding that patching the crack is my best bet, I turn back to Daryl. "I need your lighter."

"What?"

"There's a small crack in the radiator. Unless you've got a spare one laying around, I've got to repair the one we have here." I answer, holding my hand out for the lighter.

Daryl grunts, walking forward and handing over the square metal lighter. He releases it quickly, pulling his hand away as if touching me would instantly turn him into a walker. "How's that gonna help?"

Pulling my knife out of the holster around my thigh, flipping the lid of the lighter open, running the end of the metal through the flame. After about a minute, I push the knife into the thick black plastic, forcing it forward over the thin crack. "Come here."

After a moment's hesitation, Daryl steps up onto the bumper, leaning forward over the engine.

"I'm heating up the end of the knife and using it to melt the plastic to patch the crack. It'll hold for a while and then I'll have to patch it again. Eventually, I'll have moved too much of the material around and a hole will form. Unless we can find a new one we'll lose the RV." I explain.

"And there ain't nothing else you can do?" Daryl questions, his gaze shifting between the melted plastic and me.

Shrugging, I push my hair away from my eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh as it quickly falls down again. "Like I said, unless you've got a spare radiator sitting around, this is the best I can do. You want to hop in and start the engine. I want to see if this patch is going to hold."

Daryl nods, stepping back down onto the road, fishing the vehicle keys out of his pocket as he climbs up the RV stairs. A few seconds later, the engine roars to life. I watch it, making sure all the parts are working properly, no liquids spilling out. Once I'm satisfied, I climb off the bumper, heading around to the door, which is still standing open. "How's the engine temperature looking?"

"Okay, needle ain't moving none," Daryl answers; fishing the rag he keeps in his back pocket out. He stands, holding it out to me. "Yer getting grease all over yer face."

"Thanks," I respond, taking the dirty rag and wiping it over my forehead. Even though I'm sure this has only made the grease situation worse, I refrain from saying anything. Daryl is trying. His offer of his rag shows that he wants us to be friends and keep working on the same side. Refusing it would have forced any progress we've made backwards. "As long as the engine heat isn't going up there's nothing else for us to do."

"It's good to drive out to where we gotta build that wall?" Daryl asks, shutting the van off. The engine sputters to a stop.

"It'll hold for a couple month." I respond, shutting the hood. "I'll keep patching it for as long as Rick wants and as long as there's still plastic to move around."

"Yer really wanting to help with this whole thing?" Daryl inquires as we head back up the road towards Rick's place.

Shrugging, I shake my head up and down. "Alexandria is my home now. If I'm not protecting it, I'm not doing my part."

Daryl 

Early the next morning, Blaire sits atop the RV, rifle held between her knees. As I haul another wheelbarrow of dirt over to Rick, I glance at her. Hard eyes scan the environment, stopping for a few seconds to watch people work. My eyes stay on the brunette as I dump the dirt at my feet. Rick raises his eyebrows as I turn to look at him. Blaire's words echo through my head; what do I have to lose telling him how I feel?

"Hey, what ya said before, about us needing to take care of ourselves? Going out, finding more people, that is taking care of ourselves. You're call though."

Rick glances over my shoulder at Blaire, "Did she put that in your head?"

"Naw, came up with that one all on my own," I answer before taking the wheelbarrow and walking away. Ricks made his mind up. Nothing anyone says is going to change that. At least now Blaire can't give me a hard time for not standing up for what I believe in.

As dig my hands into the dirt, beginning to load more into the wheelbarrow, low growls cut through the working noise. Spinning around I see walkers begin to spill out of the woods. The other workers let out murmurs of fear, backing away from their workstations. They turn towards Rick, pleading for help.

"Use your shovels," Rick instructs, walking forward, fingers curling around the handle of his knife. "The guns will draw more."

Panic washes through the group, a guy turning to Rick, "Help us."

"You can do with. You need to, all of you."

Instead of attacking, the Alexandrians push walkers away, letting out cries of distress. As more dead walk out of the tree line Morgan steps forward, staff held out in front of himself, ready to act. "Morgan don't!" Rick calls out, but it's too late. The wanderer swings his stick around, bashing in the skull of the nearest walker.

Others follow suit. Michonne steps forwards, severing the necks of two other dead. Swinging my crossbow off my shoulder, I shoot off an arrow, resulting in another walker falling to the ground. From her spot on the RV, Blaire takes out the last two.

Rick shakes his head, walking forward, "Get back to work, all of you. Blaire, can I see you for a minute?"

The brunette nods, slinging the rifle over her shoulder and climbing down the RV ladder. The two walk over to where Rick is working. I stand off to the side, fiddling with a piece of the wall, trying to listen to what the two are talking about. Rick seems to be okay with Blaire being around, but lately little things set him off. I don't want him to get on Blaire for using the gun. She was put out here with the rifle incase something like that happened.

"Blaire, I talked to Tobin. He doesn't know how to hotwire the truck. Do you know how to do that?" Rick questions. At this I turn around, taking a few steps towards the two as Blaire nods her response.

"We're going to need you to go in before him and start it. Our best bet in getting the herd coming at a pace we can handle is moving that truck." Rick explains as he shoves another handful of dirt into a sandbag.

"Is there a chance the truck could fall with her in it?" I question, announcing my presence. Blaire glares at me, silently scolding me for eavesdropping on what was supposed to be a private conversation.

Rick looks up, "Yes."

"She ain't doing it."

"She has to."

I get an eye roll, something Blaire seems to constantly do around me, before she turns her attention to Rick. "Last I checked _Daryl_ – " another annoyed side glance – "doesn't make my decisions for me. If it needs to be done, I'm in."

Frustrated, I curl my fingers around Blaire's shoulder, leading her away from Rick. She's got to be out of her mind. There's no reason for any of us to risk our lives trying to move those trucks. I'm sure there's another way to get the herd out of the gully. "Are ya stupid or something?"

Blaire shoves my hand off of her. It leaves behind a brown smudge. "No. You can't just listen in on conversations and make decisions for me. You saved me once Daryl, you don't have to do it again."


	11. Now or Never

**Only hope you're ready,**

 **So if you will or won't,**

 **So I guess it's now or never**

Blaire

I elect to watch Judith again. Daryl keeps his distance, not bringing up my plan to go in and hotwire the truck. I need to do my part, pull my own weight around here. If that means risking my life, so be it. At least I'll die doing something to help others live. That's what Patty would have wanted. No more living for just me anymore, no more just surviving. I made a promise to all the people I lost along the way that'd I'd keep fighting. This mission, no matter how risky, is worth all the people living within these walls. The people in Alexandria are learning, trying to change. I fought for people, for a future and that's what I'll continue to do.

Judith coos, reaching out for my fingers again. She chews happily, drool running down her chin and my thumb, dripping onto the carpet. It's quiet, most people out trying to help with the whip wall. Duke lays, sprawled out over the couch, licking at his paws. Surprisingly, Rick was enthusiastic about me brining the animal over for Judith to play with. Maybe he wants things for her to be as normal as possible in this new life. Babies play with puppies and kittens, growing up next to a furry companion. The lynx might be a bit off from the normal household pet, but Duke does the job.

Gently, I replace my finger with one of the plastic toys people have been dropping off. Judith hums, happy to accept anything that will ease the pain of her teeth pushing their way up through her gums. Hopefully, the teething ends soon. I'm not sure how much more drool the limited number of outfits Judith has can take. Stretching out over the rug, I watch as the child plays, content in her own little world, oblivious to how different her realty is from the one the rest of us know. I miss television, anything to pass the time with. Before, I thought I enjoyed the quiet solitude. Now it looms over me, a constant reminder of what is going on outside. There's nothing left to distract an overactive mind, haunted by thoughts of what could've been.

"Your uncle Daryl is a very confusing man," I announce to Judith wanting to break the never-ending cycle of trees rustling and birds chirping. "One second he could give a shit and the next he's telling me I'm not supposed to do something cause it's dangerous. He needs to make up his damn mind."

Big blue eyes blink back at me; a small burp working it's way up the girl's throat and past her saliva covered lips.

"I guess I shouldn't curse around you. It'd be a shame if the first word that came out of your precious little mouth was asshole or dammit," I mull more to myself than the child. She doesn't understand any of this, blissfully unaware of the trials and tribulations of adult life in walker nation. "How about some lunch?"

Lifting Judith, I bounce her on my hips, searching through the refrigerator for anything suitable for a baby to eat. Alexandria is running dangerously low on food, the pantry stocked with cans of food that have been around since the beginning. If people wouldn't eat it then, they sure as hell won't eat it now. Shoving aside Tupperware's of pasta, I find the blended up vegetables Carol brought over. Lifting the lid, I sniff, the smell assaulting my nose...spoiled. The empty shelves stare back at me, silently taunting, daring me to keep searching them.

The food pantry offers little more, the wire racks empty aside from some Spam, a collection of colorful looking spreads, cooking wine, and an assortment of canned vegetables; most beets. Grabbing a can of the deep purple root, I head back to my house, collecting what is left of the peanut butter I brought. It may not taste good, but at least Judith will get the nutrients she needs. It's gotta be better than expired puree.

As I work, Judith plays, batting at Duke's tail. The animal purrs, gently pawing at the baby's hand. Fidgeting with the stove I get the gas turned on, lighting it with a book of matches Rick keeps stored on top of the fridge. Thankfully, the taps still run, clean water flowing out into a silver stew pot. As I wait for the liquid to boil, I drum my fingers on the counter, singing one of the songs off the mix CDs I found in the spare bedroom. Continuing to sing, Carl's words echo in my head. What would Daryl do if he heard me sing? His emotional outbursts no longer faze me, the yelling used as a wall to try and keep me out. Carol said to try, to not back down. Let him explode. At least it means he's feeling something.

Once the water boils, I drop in the beets, watching as they float to the surface, riding the bubbles within the pot. Hearing the front door open, I curl my fingers around the handle of my knife, walking slowly around the corner.

"What the hell are ya cooking in here smart-ass? Smells like death," Daryl rounds the corner, covering his nose with the red rag that's found a permanent spot in his back pocket.

Rolling my eyes, I relax, "Well, it's not like I can just go to the store and buy her baby food. I had to improvise."

"By cooking a walker?" Daryl walks over to the pot, glancing inside. "Beets?"

I shrug, hopping up on the counter as he pulls open the refrigerator, moving around containers, trying to find something that is edible, "And peanut butter."

No one has really had much time to cook anything between the Pete and quarry situation. Even if there were time, the ingredients left probably wouldn't produce anything people want to consume. Leeks and beets and Spam do not make a meal. Surviving the herd won't do us any good if all the people saved starve. The last few scouts to go out have come back empty handed. Even my rations, fully stocked before arriving, are starting to dwindle, the result of over indulging. "Ya ain't got nothing better at home?"

"Babies can't eat beef jerky and preserves don't have enough nutrients. I fed her bread dipped in water this morning. She can't grow if she doesn't have protein," I explain, taking the beets from the pot and placing them into the blender.

Daryl chews on his bottom lip, watching the maroon vegetable turn to paste, "How much jerky ya got left?"

"Not enough to share," I respond, sliding a piece out of the bag in my pocket and placing it on the counter.

As the bowman picks up the meat, I scrape the sides of the peanut butter jar, banging off the spoon into the blender. Dumping a little water into the plastic container, I shake it, trying to get the last little bit.

"I ain't eatin' that," Daryl mumbles, eyes following me as I begin to blend the peanut butter, water, and beets together.

Grabbing out a bowl, I dump the mixture into it, "Well good, cause it's not for you."

"I also ain't apologizing for trying ta save yer life," Daryl continues on, following me across the kitchen as I collect Judith, trying to coax her into just trying to beet mixture. "Carol says there ain't no use groveling."

The baby draws back her head, pressing it hard into my arm as the spoon grows closer. As the metal hits her bottom lip, Judith stick out her tongue, an instinct that's still left over from her bottle feeding days. The beet mixture reaches her taste buds. Instead of crying out, Rick's daughter leans forward, taking it all into her mouth. "You know how to avoid groveling?"

"Huh?" Daryl answers, trying to get the jerky bag out of my back pocket without touching my butt.

"Stop doing things that require an apology."

I turn, Daryl's hand brushing against the pocket of my jeans. He quickly draws it away, holding it against his body as if it physically hurt him to touch me. As Judith continues to eat, happily spooning mouthful after mouthful between her lips, I toss what remains of my jerky to Daryl. He mumbles a thank you, breaking a piece in half and handing part of it to me. "Just don't understand why yer trying to get yourself killed. Ain't you the one always goin' on 'bout how we need to care about life?"

"If I die doing something to save others, it's worth it," I answer.

Judith finishes lunch, banging the bowl and spoon against the counter to let me know. Scooping her up, I head down the back hallway, carrying the child up the stairs. Placing her in the crib, I flip on the baby monitor, carrying the screen out of the room as I shut the door behind me.

Downstairs, Daryl is stretched out over the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table. Duke sits to his left, begging for scraps of the meat he's still working through. While I don't mind his presence, I'm still not fully sure what him being here means. I agreed to stick this friendship out for the long haul, but that doesn't negate the fact that I'm starting to get a serious case of whiplash. "Shouldn't you be helping with the whip wall?"

"Naw," the bowman responds, picking up the book I've been reading, thumbing through the pages. "Rick sent me back. Doesn't like it when people disagree with 'im. Read this to me."

Sitting down on the couch, I take the book, leaning into the cushion. As I put my feet up on the wooden table before me, I make sure to tilt my toes, the tips of them just touching Daryl's dirty boots. Around his ankles, two shoestrings are tied. "Are those hers? Beth's I mean."

The man glances down, letting out a grunt, "Yeah. Ain't talking about it. You gonna read or what?"

"If you want to read-" I pass the book back to Daryl "-you're more than welcome to."

I get a side-glance, the book placed on my stomach, "Reading gives me a headache. I listen just fine."

Opening the paperback, I flip to the first page, beginning the story from the beginning. As I continue to read, Daryl settles in, his eyes fluttering shut.

Daryl

The door slamming jolts me awake, hand going for a gun that is no longer attached to my hip. Beside me, Blaire stands, greeting whoever just arrived home. Voices float up the hall as I rub the sleep from my eyes. On the couch cushion, the book Blaire was reading sits propped open. I didn't much care about the contents of the story. Sitting down out of the sun, listening to the gentle rise and fall of someone's voice wards away the visions. Despite the almost constant activity of the last few days, Beth still hangs on the fringes, trying to claw her way to the forefront of my brain.

Rick, Blaire and Michonne walk into the living room, Judith on Rick's hip. Stretching, I get up off the couch, taking lil' ass-kicker away from her dad. Walking around, I bounce the girl up and down as she coos out happily. On occasion, I catch Blaire watching me, a grin on her face. Worry slips in, making the hairs on my arm stand up. She's putting herself at risk getting into that truck. Wouldn't have been a point to bringing her back here and taking care of her if she's just going to tumble to her death.

 _"Why do you care, Daryl?"_ Beth stands in the corner of the room, pulling my attention away from Blaire. _"She doesn't matter to you. Stop letting her get under your skin."_

I close my eyes, trying to force the vision out of my head, to silence the blonde's voice. Judith fusses, twisting around in my grasp, trying to get to someone else. Michonne takes her, questioning gaze lingering as she moves back to stand with Rick.

 _"Stop actin' like her death would be your undoing, Daryl Dixon. You don't even know her."_

"Shut up," I grumble, "You ain't real."

Blaire turns, fingers gently touching my shoulder. Her touch makes Beth fade, her words hanging in the air. "What was that, Daryl?"

"Nothin'," I answer, shrugging off Blaire's concern. "Wall finished?"

Rick nods, placing dirt covered hands on the back of the couch. He looks more relaxed here as if he's finally starting to consider this place his home and not just some kind of pit stop along the way. Who knew all it would take is a walker threat to make Rick start to feel more comfortable. "Morgan and I are gonna go inventory the food storage. Once this herd is taken care of we're gonna need to find a way to feed these people."

"I'll come with ya," I offer. There are too many eyes on me in here. Too many people have questions that I don't know how to answer properly. There is still frustration with Blaire for foolishly putting her life at risk that I don't know how to vocalize. Sitting with her feels like being beside a dead woman walking.

Morgan is out on the porch steps, standing as he hears us behind him. Digging in my pocket, I pull out a cigarette, smoking as we walk. People wander the streets, others sitting outside, discussing the events of tomorrow. Fear hangs in the air, creating a kind of nervous electricity. No amount of preparation will put everyone's worries to rest. The dry run will ensure we all understand where to be, but it doesn't help with the unknown. Walkers are easily distracted. We don't have a contingency plan for if they all decide to stop following behind the bike and car.

Inside the storehouse, there is a crash and the sound of bodies moving around. Rick slows his pace, trying to listen. Eugene talks in his slow, southern drawl, questioning the other about what they were doing. As we reach the door separating our group from the one inside, I throw it open. "What the hell is going on?"

Everyone inside goes still. Eugene sits on the floor amongst a pile of broken bottles and their contents, a gun pointed at his head. Tobin, Spencer, and a dark haired woman stand off to the side, all averting their gaze.

Rick steps forward, hands held out in front of him, ready to fight, "What're you doing?"

"I'm taking this place back from you," Carter responds, his body still turned towards Eugene.

Rick chuckles, shaking his head. His gaze shifts from Carter to the others standing off to the side. They all look ashamed, like children who got caught with their hands in the cookie jar. "That's what you were talking about in here?"

"That's what _he_ was talking about," Spencer corrects Rick, not wanting to take responsibility for his involvement. He lifts his hand, pointing towards Carter. The others nod their agreement.

"See, I would have-" Rick chews at his bottom lip, doing his best to contain the anger building inside of him. His hand falls to his empty gun holster over and over again, willing the weapon to appear. "I would have set up some lookouts. That would have been the smart thing. You know if I happened to-" Rick lunges at Carter, elbowing him in the stomach as he snatches the gun away. The other man falls to the ground, hands going up by his ears as Rick points the gun at him. "You really think you can take this community from us? From Glenn? From Michonne? From Daryl? From _me_? Do you have any idea who you're talking to?"

Carter gets to his knees, hands still held in the air. He licks his lips, glancing at the others, "It was just me."

"What?" Rick demands, cocking the gun as he moves it closer to Carter's head.

Carter takes in a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes closed as he speaks, "It was me...it was just me. Just...just kill me."

We don't need another person dead. Rick can't afford to off another of Alexandria's members. The unrest would boil over; those wary of our presence would mutiny. There will be a time when Rick may need to cede leadership but now isn't that time. He's the one that's going to lead us through the current threat. In the stillness of the room, I watch our leader. He breaths steadily, finger curled around the trigger. The vein across his forehead pulses; sweat hanging on his brow, "Rick.

Watery blue eyes leave Carter, settling on me. Rick's gaze softens, whatever rage induced haze he was in, clearing. The gun is pulled away from Carter's head, handed off to Morgan who tucks it away. "I'm good." Rick turns his attention back to Carter. "You can try and work with us. You can survive. Would you do that?"

Carter nods as Morgan moves forward to help Eugene stand up. The others in the group shuffle forward, trying to exit the premise as quickly as they can. No one looks at Rick who stands with his thumbs hooked through the belt loops on his pants.

"I greatly appreciate the rescuing," Eugene announces as he backs out of the storeroom, a can of strawberry preserves held tightly to his chest.

Rick ignores him, looking to the pile of broken glass and fallen cans, "You'd think they wanted to die."

"Maybe they do," I answer, beginning to gather the shards, stacking them in a pile off to the side. Morgan hands down a wet cloth, using his own to start mopping up the food spilled over the wooden floor.

Rick shakes his head, picking up a can of beets, one of the few things we aren't running low on, his eyes scanning the metal shelves, "This isn't even enough to last the month. Daryl, you were sayin' something about a place Blaire knew."

"Yeah, where she was before, out in the middle a nowhere," I answer, handing up cans as Morgan carries the glass shards away. "Talked about going out, but ain't made no solid plan."

Rick nods, his eyes fixed on the bare shelves, "Ask her to draw out a map. We'll head out the day after we handle the herd."

Blaire lays in the grass, her limbs splayed out, eyes closed against the mid-afternoon sun. I approach slowly, sitting down in the yard next to her. I pick at the grass, watching as Blaire's chest rises and falls in time with her breath. Waking her feels wrong. The brunette barely sleeps, wandering the house until all hours of the morning. When she does sleep, it isn't peaceful.

"What do you need, Daryl?" Blaire's voice catches me off guard, her light eyes meeting mine as she props herself up on her elbows. "I thought we agreed that watching me sleep was creepy."

I shake my head, chewing on my thumb, "I ain't never agreed to nothin'."

"Well, I don't have any more food and you haven't seemed interested in the alcohol lately so I'm afraid I have nothing to offer," Blaire states, getting to her feet.

She holds her hand out, looking down at me. I know she wants me to take it, to accept her help. Staring at the grooves of her palm, I reach up, curling my fingers around her wrist. She's warm and soft under my callouses, the scars running up her arms flush with her skin. The pins and needle feeling that I get every time we come into contact returns, willing me to withdraw my touch. I fight it, chewing at the inside of my cheek as Blaire's fingers wrap around my own, leading me inside. "Ain't here for food. Rick needs a map, directions to yer old supply place."

"Why?" Blaire runs water into the coffee pot sitting on her counter, spooning coffee grounds into a strip of tan colored mesh she's using as a filter.

I push myself up onto the counter, continuing to follow Blaire's movements with my eyes. She busies herself, refusing to stand still. That's her way of staying one step ahead of the past, a sort of protection against the images that haunt her. "People need fed. From what ya said, ain't too many people going through yer place."

"Why does he need a map?" Blaire clarifies her question, handing me an off-white coffee mug as the dark brown liquid begins to fall into the glass pot. "I can just go. I'll bring whatever I can back."

Beth's stubbornness drove me up a wall. Blaire's is no different. The way she sets her jaw, squaring her shoulders, the metaphorical putting down of her foot makes my blood boil. It's like she can't stand to be questioned, to accept the help that is nearly being shoved down her throat. Blaire thrives off of the permanent grief she's forcing herself into. Fighting back the urge to lash out, I pass the ceramic cup back and forth between my hands. "Ya get yerself killed trying to start that stupid truck and it won't do us no good to have the location trapped inside your head."

"I'm not going to die," Blaire insists, pouring coffee into my mug.

Lifting the mug to my lips I take a small sip, the liquid burning my tongue, "Why're ya so against making a map?"

"That place was mine. That's where the people I care about are. I don't want your people traipsing through there, tearing it all up," Blaire answers, sliding down the cabinets across from me, ending up on the floor. "I know we need food and supplies. I'm not trying to keep it for myself or not let these people have it...I'll go, but just me."

I stare down at Blaire, continuing the drink the steaming contents in my cup. She keeps her gaze on the floor, knees pulled up to her chest. Her hands cup the coffee mug that stays glued to her bottom lip. Tears glisten in her eyes, a few escaping; racing down her scared cheek. Despite the world around her, Blaire is still human. She feels the things she does, the people she's lost. I think there's strength in that. Blaire is stronger than I first thought. I see it in the way she carries herself, shoulders rolled back, fingers always curled around the knife fastened to her thigh. I see it in the way she dances around Rick's living room with Judith when she thinks no one is watching, in her gentle touch; in the way she pushes me. Her strength is the same as Beth's. I only wish I had seen it in the other sooner.

"Why'd you take me? To yer place, I mean, if it's so special."

Blaire lifts her gaze, wiping away her tears with the palm of her hand, giving me a smile, "You're different. I could see that you had a story, that you understood struggle and pain. You got it." Thin fingers reach out, lying over the top of mine. I make no move to pull away. "You are something else, Daryl Dixon. That's why."

Blaire

The growls from the dead echo off the quarry walls; rotting flesh tumbling over itself, fighting to get at the group that gathers outside the barrier. Rick stands before us, positioned in front of where two semi-trucks come together. Leathery flesh reaches through the gap, searching for anything to pull into the pit. A vast ocean of the dead roll below the quarry side spanned out as far as the eye can see. I was told it was a herd, a group of the dead that could wipe out all of Alexandria, but I could never have imagined this. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I try to hide my nerves.

"This is where it all starts tomorrow," Rick addresses the group, his voice rising over the roar of the dead. "Blaire, you'll hotwire the truck. Tobin, once she's out, you'll get in, opening the exit and we're off. Once you've got the truck out of the way catch up with your team at red, stayin' on the west side of the road. Daryl will lead them out."

Before Rick can continue, a low rumble cuts through, sounding like far off thunder. Across the quarry, rocks begin to tumble down the embankment. The wheels of the semi-truck on the opposite side slip, the cab tilting towards the bottom of the pit. Metal creaks, the rest of the truck falling from the ledge it has been sitting on, hitting the bottom of the quarry with a thud.

Time stops, the world moving in slow motion as the herd begins to pour out of the opening, heading straight for us. This was just supposed to be a test run; a time to make sure everything was going to work out. We aren't ready. This has to be a dream. My heart thuds against my chest, stomach churning.

"It's open!" Rick's voice pulls me back to reality, the others around us springing into motion. "We gotta do this now!"

Flying forward, I throw open the door of the semi-truck. Shoved inside the ignition is the key, ready to be turned. Curling my fingers around the plastic ending, I twist hard. The engine sputters, flipping over; once, twice...the semi-truck roars to life, the seat underneath me vibrating. So far, so good.

"Sasha! Abraham! You meet Daryl at red," Rick continues to shout out instructions as I rejoin the group. "Let him take them through the gauntlet."

Sasha nods, "Yeah, we meet at red! She turns, hurrying towards the car sitting in wait for her. Abraham follows, throwing open the passenger side door.

"Rick," Glenn calls out, "I'll hit the tractor place.

"Okay," Rick turns to the rest of our group, "Who else?"

Stepping forward, I volunteer myself. In the original plan, I was only here to help Tobin hotwire the semi-truck. After that, I was to help where I'm needed. Glenn can't handle to tractor place alone. We have no idea what's waiting for us there. "I'll go."

"Blaire! You go with Daryl. If anything happens you'll have to take over," Rick instructs, moving onto the next group of people.

Nodding, I move over to where Daryl sits on his bike, ready to go. Swinging my leg over the motorcycle, I curl my fingers around his leather-covered shoulders. It's now or never. This is happening whether we're ready or not. This has to work. There are no second chances. The people back home are depending on us to keep them safe.

Rick raises his hand in the air, his voice once again rising over the commotion, "They're heading for home! We don't have a choice! Get ready to hit the flares!" Our leader drops his hand. "Now!"

Flares shoot out over the quarry, pulling the herd towards us. As Tobin climbs up into the truck, a dead one slips past, it's skin peeling off as it struggles to get to the living. As it reaches for Rick, Daryl releases an arrow. The dead one stops, hovers for a second, then crumples. Rick nods as Daryl revs the bike engine, turning us away from the coming swarm.

"You all have your assignments," Rick's voice sounds over the radio strapped to Daryl's shoulder as we drive slowly up the road, beginning to lead the herd in the direction we want them. "You know where to rendezvous. Daryl leads them out. Sasha and Abraham join him at the bottom of the hill. Glenn, you hit us when you take care of the walkers at the tractor place. That's the only thing we gotta get ahead of. Everybody, keep your heads. Just keep up."

My fingers stay curled around Daryl's shoulder, the knuckles going white under the pressure. He revs the engine again as we head down a gravel road lined with rusted out cars. Behind us, the moans of the dead linger, their feet dragging along the loose rocks. We keep a car length between them and us, just enough so that we're safe from outreached arms. Out of habit, I begin to hum, mumbling the words of a song under my breath, trying to drown out the sounds of those who would turn us into a feast.

"Don't," Daryl cautions, going ridged under my grip.

I fall silent, chewing on my lip as we continue to lead the herd towards the main road where Sasha and Abraham will join us on the journey. Glancing out over my shoulder, I watch the dead behind us, inching their way up the path. It's us or them. We just have to trust that Rick's plan will work. "Why?"

"The singing, it just reminds me of her," Daryl answers as I turn around, staring at the back of his head. He looks at me through the side mirror on his bike. If he's scared or worried, I can't tell.

Gently, I lean forward, wrapping my arms around his chest, my cheek resting against the worn leather of his jacket, "You can't run from her memory forever, Daryl. You can't keep blaming yourself."

"Ain't running," Daryl responds.

I tighten my grip as we hit a dip in the road, the bike jumping underneath us, "Then what is it you're doing?"

Daryl's shoulders rise and fall under me as he shrugs, "Trying to keep livin' best I can."

"We're at red at the bottom of the hill," Rick's voice crackles over the walkie-talkie. So far so good.

The bowman nods, chewing on his lip as the front wheel of the motorcycle hits the paved road. A rusty red car falls in pace beside us, Abraham nodding in our direction. Sasha sits beside him, her eyes glued to the scenery laid out in front of us. Daryl reaches up, depressing the talk button on his radio. "Here comes the parade."

"Shitting your pants yet?" Abraham questions, giving me a smile.

Chuckling, I shake my head, "You wish."

"She's a lot braver than she looks, huh?" Sasha's passenger looks to Daryl, drumming his fingers against the flaking red pain.

The man before me shrugs, once again catching my eye in the side mirror, "Guess so."

We fall into a silence, the herd continuing to follow behind us, drawn by the rumbling of the bike and the sputtering of the engine in the old car. The red rust bucket should hold, getting it's occupants safely back inside the gates of Alexandria. Its insides looked good, only needing a top up on fluids. As long as it's kept under thirty it won't give out on us.

As we near the whip wall, Daryl slows, foot on the ground, working to walk the bike around the curve. From behind the metal plates, flares go off, trying to keep the herd heading in the right direction. I can hear bodies hitting into metal, the sounds of bones cracking as the dead push forward, trying to get closer to their next meal. I could turn and look, making sure that none are slipping through, that they're all actually making it around the curve, heading away from the people back home, but I don't. My eyes stay glued to the back of Daryl's head, teeth working at the raw skin on my thumb.

Beside us, a door handle clicks, rusted metal grinding against each other. Lifting my gaze, I see Abraham, sliding out of his seat onto the road. He's got a knife held tightly in his hand, eyes set on the dead behind us. "What're you doing?"

"Got some dead trying to stage a walkout," Abraham answers back.

I shift my gaze, watching as a group of the dead begins to veer off to the left, heading towards the tree line. "Need help?"

"Naw," Abraham shakes his head, taking off towards the runaway group. "I'll catch up!"

My heart thunders in my ears, each beat counting off a second. Everything sounds louder, the rev of the motorcycle, the moans of the dead. Off in the distance, a horn begins to sound.


	12. Ambush

**When the going's rough you can be sure,**

 **I'll tough it out,**

 **I won't give in,**

 **When I'm knocked down I get up again**

Daryl

Blaire twists around, searching for the source of the noise echoing through the trees. "What the hell is that?"

"Horn 'er something," I answer with a shrug, continuing forward.

Blaire twists again, looking out at the herd. Her fingers dig into my shoulder, "It's pulling them off the road."

"How many?"

Blaire lets out a long sigh, "Looks like the whole back half, too many to get back ourselves."

"We gotta keep goin'," I answer, reaching for the radio. "Rick!"

There is silence, static crackling on the other end, "I'm here."

"What's going on back there?" I question, glancing over my shoulder. We've only got about half the group distracted. The rest trails off into the woods, heading back towards home.

"Half of them broke off," Rick says over the walkie-talkie, breathing hard. "They're going toward Alexandria."

Abraham, who returned a few minutes before the horn started, grabs hold of Sasha's radio, twisting around in his seat to watch what is going on behind us, "Towards you?"

"We ran ahead," Rick explains, static cutting through his words as he moves further away from us. "There's a horn or something. Loud, coming from the east. It's not stopping."

Screw this. There isn't a point in leading these walkers away from home is there's no home to go back to. The people we left at behind aren't prepared to deal with that many at once. Half this group could bring the walls down. Maybe there's another way, a road where we can pick them back up, lead them away from the walls, "I'm gonna gas it up. Turn back."

"We have it," Rick asserts. "You keep going."

Rick's small group can't do that themselves. Even if they beat the herd back to Alexandria it won't do any good. The people there will get overrun or trapped inside, "They're gonna need our help."

For a few minutes, there's nothing but static and Rick's panting, "Gotta keep the herd moving."

"Not if it's going down, we don't." Leading this part of the herd away does us no good if the other part is broken off. It's more important to keep the people within Alexandria's walls protected. Right now, that means going back home.

"If the rest of that herd turns around, the bad back there gets worse," Rick answers, sounding sure of his decision. Those people back there can't do it alone. The group of fifteen running alongside us in the woods aren't going to be able to take down hundreds of walkers before they reach the walls of Alexandria. If we don't turn around and help, people are going to die. "Daryl?"

I chew at my bottom lip for a second before answering back, "Yeah, heard ya." Once more I glance over my shoulder, watching as more and more walkers diverge from the intended path, headed in the direction of home. "Hey, we gone five miles out yet?"

"Give or take some yardage," Abraham responds from his spot in the car next to me. "Got a reason for asking?"

Nodding, I point up ahead to where the road splits, "Next intersection we're gonna spin around and go back." Right now it's more important to make sure the people in Alexandria are safe.

"The plan is to go fifteen more," Sasha shouts back.

"Yeah," I answer, "I'm gonna change that. Fives gonna have to work."

Abraham frowns, "The magic number is twenty. That's the mission. That's making sure they're off munching on infirm raccoons the rest of their undead lives instead of us."

I turn, facing the two people in the car, continuing to drive the motorcycle alongside them. They could handle what's left of the herd; lead them on the other fifteen miles. They walkers won't break off to follow the bike, at least not enough to matter in the grand scheme of things. Sasha and Abraham can bring them on forward. Right now, Alexandria needs people who know how to fight.

"You wanna go, we can't stop you," Sasha announces, looking in my direction. "But without you, they could stop us."

Chewing at my lip, I glance at Blaire in the side mirror. She sits, head turned to watch as the herd behind us. If she's worried or scared, I can't tell. "Hop off. Get in the car with Sasha and Abraham."

"Daryl," Blaire turns around, her eyes catching mine in the mirror. "What are you doing?"

She'll be more help here, "You three lead them out. I have to help Rick."

"I'm going with you," Blaire protests, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

I'm not letting her argue this one. Rick and Michonne can't take on those walkers alone. They need my help. Sasha and Abraham need Blaire's help, "I said yer stayin'."

"You can't do this alone."

Digging around in my jacket pocket, I pull out the crumpled up package of cigarettes that Blaire wrote all over. "Here," Blaire's fingers curl around mine for a second as she takes the package.

"Daryl..." Blaire stares down at the cigarette carton. "Don't be silly. You're coming with us."

Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. The people back in Alexandria need help. I need to be there. "I told ya, yer going with Sasha and Abraham. I'll get 'em from ya when we meet up again. Rick needs help." I wait for the argument, but none comes. Instead, Blaire pitches herself off the back of the motorcycle, climbing through the back window of the car next to us. "I got faith in ya."

The group behind me calls out in protest, trying to get me to stay as I rev the engine, pulling ahead. As the road splits, I turn back in the direction of Alexandria. The radio attached to my shoulder crackles, but Abraham and Sasha remain quiet, not telling the others I've split off from the original plan. Chewing my lip, I wait for her voice to come over the radio, trying to talk some sense into me, but it never does. Deep down Blaire has to know this is the right thing to be doing.

"Daryl," Rick's voice cracks over the radio as I continue up the road leading back to Alexandria.

Reaching for the button, I press it down, "I'm here."

"Won't be long now," Rick starts, breathing heavy. "They're almost here. I'll get them going your way again."

Is that possible? Did Rick's small group get the whole back half of the herd turned around and moving in the right direction again? "How 'bout that, Daryl?" Sasha calls out over the walkie-talkie. "He's gonna be coming our way."

"There's gunfire coming from back home," Rick continues as I speed up. The road splits again. I can circle back; meet up with Sasha, Blaire, and Abraham. We'll lead the whole herd the rest of the twenty miles. The people back home will be safe, at least from the walkers. "We gotta sit with it and hope they can handle it. I think they can. They have to. We keep going forward for them. Can't turn back 'cause we're afraid."

Static hisses through the radio, Abraham's voice cutting through it, "We ain't afraid."

"This is for them," Rick continues on, his words more for himself than the others listening. We all have people back home we care about. Not going to their aid feels wrong, but it has to be done. This threat needs to be handled so that those back in Alexandria are able to focus on whatever threat they're up against. "Going back now, before it's done, that'd be for us. The herd has to be almost here."

Three short pops—rapid fire—nothing. Static takes over the radio, filling my heart with dread. "Rick?" Silence. "Rick?" Static pops. "Rick?"

The low hum of the motorcycle engine is all that answers back as I continue to grow closer to the slip in the road. My heart tells me to go after the gunfire. My brain tells me that I need to go back to the group. For a second, I stop, looking each way. Rick is right. Going towards Alexandria, seeing if Rick is okay would be for me. Returning to Sasha, Abraham, and Blaire that's for everyone back home. As the beat-up red car comes rumbling up the road, I rev the engine, pulling out beside it.

Blaire hangs out the back, a smile plastered across her face. Brunette hair that she usually keeps pulled back is splayed out behind her. I think this is the most carefree the girl has been since I found her out in the woods. "Told ya he'd come back." Blaire nudges Abraham in the shoulder before quickly shoving her head back through the window. Her light grey eyes sparkle in the afternoon sun. "Abraham owes me a Butterfinger."

"You are not seriously cashing in on that?" Abraham questions. "My chances of finding one of those are about as great as the world righting itself."

Once again, Blaire leans forward, her hands snaking around the headrest, fingers curling around Abraham's shoulders, "Better start looking."

"All right," Sasha butts into the conversation as we pass a green road marker.

"That 20?"

Sasha nods, reaching up to adjust the rearview mirror. The herd continues on behind us, moving further away from Alexandria, "It will be. Six forty-two is a mile ahead. We gotta put distance between us and them before the turnoff."

"All right," I rev the engine, glancing at Sasha, "try to keep up."

Blaire

I watch as Daryl rides ahead. He's at ease out here despite all the dangers. The way his body moves with the machine, gliding gracefully against the slowly crumbling street. Just like every other time we've been beyond the walls, Daryl looks free.

Almost as quickly as it came about, the peaceful scene slips away as bullets fly through the windows. Twisting off the rotting leather seat, I hit the carpeted floor, fingers intertwining over the top of my head. Sasha swerves, taking us down a side road, doing her best to avoid the gunman behind us. Kneeling up, I pull the gun from my hip, returning fire through the busted out rear window. Once I run out of bullets I twist around just in time to see Daryl's bike slide out, the metal vehicle falling on top of him. Sasha continues to drive.

"We have to turn around!" I say panicked, grabbing for the door handle.

Abraham's hand wraps around my shoulder, shoving me back onto the ground as another round of bullets comes flying through the car, "No can do."

"We can't just leave him behind," I object watching as Daryl grows further and further away from us.

Sasha continues to zigzag along the road, "If we go back we're dead."

In an attempt to lose the car behind us, Sasha turns down an alley. Before us is a dead end, a wooden wall stretching across the opening. The wheels skid against the gravel, throwing all of us forward as Sasha slams on the breaks. Raising my arms I block my face as the front of the car breaks through the wooden barrier. Despite losing our mode of transportation, it does seem that those in pursuit have switched their attention. Daryl's bike roars past a black SUV plowing down the road behind him.

A dead one reaches through the broken wood, bony fingers flexing as it tries to slide past the car. Abraham begins walking forward, knife held tightly in his grasp. Sasha reaches out, grabbing the man by his elbow, "Leave it."

"Just gonna give it a last polish," Abraham responds with a grin.

Sasha looks annoyed, her eyes scanning the road that runs in front of us, "What the hell you got to grin about?"

"We won, darlin'," Abraham asserts, beginning to stride forward again.

Sasha reaches out, once more grabbing hold of the redhead. His reckless behavior is starting to wear on her already shot nerves. "There could be more."

As if on cue, tires screech against the pavement, the sound of a car engine growing closer. The female raises an eyebrow, dark eyes darting from Abraham to the street and back. That's an _I told you so_ look if I've ever seen one. Without arguing, Abraham and I follow Sasha further up the alley, disappearing from the view of anyone coming up the main road. We take another side street, making a loop back the main road. For now, it's quiet, those involved in the ambush long gone.

"His bikes gone," Sasha announces, coming out from around the last dumpster lining the street.

Leaning down, Abraham picks up a metal casing, checking the end before tossing it aside, "Those are his shells."

"He fired at 'em, got away," Sasha says hopefully, glancing in my direction.

I don't share her optimistic attitude. Along the road are droplets of blood, the liquid still shiny and wet. That doesn't mean anything good for the bowman. I hate that we weren't able to continue after him, that we just kept driving when he slid out.

"There aren't enough people around to just wait around for somebody to ambush," Sasha observes. "They couldn't have just been watching us, not with what we were doing."

Abraham nods I agreement, his eyes sweeping the area, "Naw, they were looking to chew up someone in particular. Whoever the hell they were."

Frustrated with Abraham and Sasha's obvious observation of the situation we've gotten ourselves into; I reach over, unstrapping the walkie-talkie from the female's shoulder. We should be coming up with a plan, trying to figure out how to find Daryl. Depressing the button I let the static hiss for a few seconds before calling out. "Daryl, you copy? Daryl?"

Silence answers back.

"Dollars to doughnuts, he's on his way back to Alexandria now," Abraham voices, placing his hand on my shoulder.

Sasha walks over, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her pants, "He wouldn't leave us."

"He already did," Abraham responds with a frown.

Shrugging off his hand, I turn to look at the man, "He came back."

"He left her behind," Sasha says, her dark eyes fixed on me. There's more, but she keeps quiet.

The redhead shakes his head, shrugging, "What does that have to do with balls on a bull?"

"He'll come back for her."

Ignoring the implications in Sasha's words, I slide down the side of our now wrecked vehicle, pulling my thighs up to my chest. "Not if it wasn't safe. Maybe he ran into more of them. Maybe he's hurt somewhere. We shouldn't just be doing nothing."

"So," Abraham offers me his hand, "we go look for him."

Gratitude washes over me. I'm glad to have Abraham on my side.

"The best way to find a tracker is to stay put," Sasha cuts down our plan, her body blocking our path. "Let him find you."

Abraham gives the woman a questioning glance, her logic not making sense to him, "You just want us to sit here with our precious leathers in our hands?"

"No," Sasha steps forward, sinking the sole of her boot into a muddy patch to the right of the car.

The three of us move down another street lined with buildings. Most of the windows have been busted open, glass crunching under my boots. Papers litter the streets, handwritten notes scribbled across the slowly yellowing pages. Continuing on, we approach a line of stores. These look better off than the ones at the start of the block. The windows are intact or boarded over. Sasha stops, trying the door. It swings open, revealing a dark hallway. She looks to Abraham and me for approval.

"Good as any place," Abraham assures her, his attention drawn by a dead one moving up the sidewalk.

As he goes to kill it, Sasha grabs him by the shoulder, once again preventing him from making the kill, "Don't."

While they argue, I dig the tip of my knife into my thumb until blood begins to pool. Dragging my finger over the peeling white paint of the door, I write out Daryl's last name. Hopefully, he'll come back through here and see this. I'm not sure how long Sasha and Abraham will want to hang out before calling it a loss and going back to Alexandria.

"You two coming, or are you gonna keep arguing over the dead?" I question, yanking the door open before disappearing inside.

The lower levels are clear, rusty stains the only remnants of walkers every being here. As we continue towards the top floor, the air becomes thicker, filled with the smell of rotting flesh. Kicking the door in front of me, waiting for the familiar sound of flesh smacking against the wood.

"I'll get it," Abraham offers, holding his knife out in front of him, ready to charge at whatever comes through the door.

Rolling my eyes, I throw the door open, driving my weapon through the softening skull of walker waiting on the other side. It's finger's curl around my arm before it begins to slide backward, crumpling to the carpeted floor. "You don't have to kill them all."

Abraham wanders up the hall, knocking into doors as he does. I lag behind, kicking at the books and papers. The hallway leads to a big room filled with desks. The chairs have been tossed aside, drawers looted. To my right is a wall of glass, a rotting hand banging against it over and over in an attempt to reach Sasha who sits calmly amongst the chaos. "Just gonna leave it?"

"It's not hurting anybody," Sasha answers back casually, her eyes shifting lazily from the dead. The light has left her, a shell of a woman staring through me. I can't help but wonder if she took on the task of leading the walkers out hoping that she wouldn't make it home.

Sighing, I sink to the floor, watching the dead one try to claw it's way through the wall of glass, "Abraham is gonna want it dead."

"Then he can do it himself."

Moments later, the redheaded man lumbers into the room, thumbs hooked through the belt loops in his pants, knife dripping blood onto the carpeted floor. His gaze instantly falls on the dead one, "How come gorgeous over here is still standing?"

"He can't get out," Sasha responds as Abraham jiggles the doorknob. "It's locked. We're fine."

Abraham looks to me, crossing his arms over his chest, "You condone this behavior?"

"If it can't get out why go through the effort," I answer with a shrug, dragging myself to my feet. We have bigger issues than making sure one of the reanimated is put to rest. "I'm gonna try and radio Daryl again."

Daryl

My head throbs, vision blurry as I slowly open my eyes. The bullet wound is now wrapped, dried blood and dirt caked to my skin. Glancing around, I try to find anything that could be used to cut myself free. I should have gone back, found a way to loop back towards Alexandria. The ones that captured me continue to whisper quietly between themselves, arguing about who I am. They're on the run that much is evident. All three of them jump at the smallest of sounds, fingers pressed to the weapons at their sides.

The only male in the group fills my vision, "Get up. Hey, get up." I stare back at him, refusing to react even as he shoves the barrel of his gun in my face. Shooting me is only gonna give away their location to the people who are actually after them. "We're moving. Here's the deal. You don't say shit and I don't kill you."

"I ain't who you think," I answer, once again trying to reason with him. For now, fighting isn't going to do any good. The man has my crossbow thrown over his shoulder and the other two have guns.

The man shoves the gun against my forehead, the hammer clicking as the cold metal presses against my skin. "Say something else. Go ahead." I'm dragged to my feet, twine rubbing against my wrists, as I'm led forward. "Follow me."

We move further into the forest. The trees here are scorched too, ash hanging in the air. I could run, but where would I go. They kept me blindfolded last night as they moved me to their camp. While I could probably find it again, I'm weaponless, unable to defend myself if the people who are looking for them or walkers showed up. The blonde girl looks weak, stumbling along behind the others. The man and the brunette female seem to have their wits about them. I've not seen them interact, but I have to assume they'd protect the weaker one if it came down to that. Maybe that's my chance.

"Here, drink the rest," the brunette holds out a mostly empty water bottle to the blonde, shaking it a little to get her attention.

The other female takes it, staring at the depleted supply, "We should save it."

"We'll find more," the brunette assures, "Drink. You're supposed to stay hydrated. It all works together."

The blonde takes a sip, screwing the lid back on before handing it to the other girl. The brunette stares down at the bottle for a second before trying to pass it off to me "Have it."

I glare down at the water. I'm not taking shit from these people. Right now me drinking is fine, but a few hours from now when all the water is gone they'll use it against me. Beside me, the man snatched up the water bottle, "We don't need you falling down." The bottle is thrust into my hands. "Drink."

Holding the bottle, I stare down at it, continuing to shuffle behind the group. We were so close. Those walkers were far enough away to not be a threat. All we needed to do was get back to Alexandria and help the people there. We would've made it too if it hadn't been for the pricks on the road. I hope that Sasha, Abraham, and Blaire made it back. I don't want them out wasting time looking for me or waiting for me to come find them.

"They find us, maybe we give you to them," The man begins to ramble, glancing back at me over his shoulder. "Maybe they let us call it even. You see, we're reasonable people. Everybody's got their code. You feel you gotta kneel, that's fair enough. We don't."

What the hell is this kneeling nonsense? I haven't knelt before someone a day in my life and I don't plan on starting today. Despite wanting to protest the accusations, I swallow my words. So far it seems that the only way to make it through this is to keep quiet until I can find a time to get away.

"I can't believe we're going back," the blonde female grumbles.

The brunette turns, offering her an encouraging smile, "It's not home anymore, but it's better than where we were."

"This is a pit stop," the man cuts in, seeming annoyed by the girl's continued conversation. "We pick up Patty, nothing more than that."

As we continue through the forest, the blonde looks around, taking in the burnt trees and the charred remains of walkers littering the path, "How'd you do it?"

"You saw where we left the truck?" The female nods. "We opened the valve and drove all the way from Farmview Road. Ran from the tree line till we got to the pavement. Lit up a matchbook from the Sweetwater and dropped it on the trail. Then we just ran for the car. Got in and the dead ones were there. They were beating on the hood and then...boom! Knocked them on their asses and I took an ax to each one."

This whole part of the forest is burned. That must've been one big truck to create such mass destruction, "You did all this?"

"It was right at the start," the brunette explains, walking backward. "Everything stopped, the TV, the radio. We were here. The forest was full of them. And the other ones in town, they were drawn to it. They just walked right into the flames. We got most of them. Thought we ended it for us. And she was in DC," the female motions to the other. "We thought everyone was fighting them wherever they were."

The man frowns, shaking his head, "Yeah, we thought that was what everybody was doing. Fighting it. That we'd all win together. We were stupid."

"Y'all don't think you're being stupid right now?" I stop walking. From the sound of things, these people have been through a lot. Maybe, just maybe, they can be reasoned with. Not everyone starts out bad. There has to be a part of one of them that doesn't want to be doing this.

Once again the gun is pulled out, trained at the spot between my eyes. I stand tall, not letting the people before me see that the situation is making me uncomfortable. "Are you saying I should kill you? I mean it, are you gonna try and pull something on us? Are we just being thick here by not removing all doubt?" I remain silent, knowing that anything I say will only add fuel to the man's rage. "Right now, by not pulling this trigger, is that a mistake? I'm serious. I really wanna know. You made a choice to kill for someone else, to have them own you for a roof over your head and three squares, so maybe I'm not considering all aspects here. You tell me, am I being stupid?"

"No." I start forward again. Reasoning isn't going to work. The one in charge is blinded by hatred and the females will follow. "Look, I got somewhere to be. We can make a deal. I can help you out."

The man snarls, looking disgusted by the idea of accepting aid from me, "You're one of them. You're hurt and you're alone and you'd say anything. We should've never trusted you people to begin with." He walks forward, pressing the gun against the back of my head. "Go on. Keep moving."

Trying to reason has only made the man more on edge, the gun kept out and pointed at me as we continue our trek. I remain hyper-aware of my every move. The man is too wired, too ready to pull the trigger. I won't give him any excuse. The faces of my family flash before my eyes; Rick, Carl, Carol, Michonne...even Blaire. I wonder how long it'll take her to start smoking through the packet of cigarettes I left behind with her. Rick will hold the group together, leading those left with the same wisdom and courage he always has. The others will follow, fighting furiously to protect their new home and those that live within.

Eventually, we push through the trees, coming to a grassy area. Up ahead is a fence, blocking us off from a lot filled with walkers. I stay close to the tree line, watching as the others drop their belongings, wandering closer to the razor wire lined barrier. The bag with my crossbow lays neglected to my left. As the group begins to talk, I inch over, eyes trained on the other people. Reaching down, I curl my fingers over the straps, doing my best to lift it off the ground.

As the blonde crumples to the ground, I turn tearing through the trees. I can hear gunfire behind me, the shouts of my captors filling my ears. Urging myself forward, I continue on until my legs begin to burn, my lungs screaming for air. Up ahead, a root sticks out of the ground, sliding behind it, I catch my breath, using a nearby rock to saw through the rope. Leaning back again, I claw at the walkie-talkie still attached to my shoulder. "Sasha, Abraham, Blaire. Are you there?"

A hiss of static answers me back.

Let me know what you think. I always appricate comments :)


	13. This

**Well, you can't get what you want,**

 **But you can get me,**

 **So let's set out to sea,**

 **Cause you are my medicine,**

 **When you're close to me**

Blaire

The sun sets long before I give up on radioing Daryl. I count the minutes off on my fingers, calling out to the bowman every half hour. Although he never responds, I don't give up hope. Daryl is strong and smart and resourceful. If he can, he'll come looking for us. I know he cares, even if he pretends not to. Just like everyone else in this world, Daryl just wants people he can trust, who he can rely on. Carol was right when she told me that once someone has a place in Daryl's world he defends them fiercely. All I wanted since the day he rescued me was to understand who Daryl Dixon was as a person, who this world shaped him to be. In doing that, I've developed a soft spot for the man. My heart aches knowing he may be out there hurt or worse.

"I'm smoking one of your cigarettes, guess you shouldn't have left them with me. You know I quit when this whole thing started. Damn you for putting temptation back in my lap," I take a drag from the cigarette held between my fingers, watching the smoke spiral up into the night. "We need you to come back...I need you to come back. There are still things I wanna know, stuff we can teach each other. You can deny it all you want, but you're learning just as much for me as I am from you. Sorry I didn't fight harder to go back," I bit my lip, trying to hold in tears that threaten to spill down my face. "You probably can't even hear this, but I'll kill you if you don't come back, Daryl Dixon, I swear to it," I chuckle, rolling my eyes at how ridiculous that sounds. I shouldn't care, not this much at least. No sane person would be almost in tears over the thought of losing someone they only met a month or so ago, but here I am.

Static crackles back at me, once again reminding me that there is no one on the other end. Leaning back against the brick wall, I close my eyes, the feedback slowly lulling me to sleep.

Bright light beats against my eyelids, my limbs stiff from falling asleep on the roof. Beside me, the walkie-talkie sits disregarded. Groaning, I rub my eyes, squinting against the brightness of the sun. I stand up, attaching the radio to my hip as I wander to the edge of the building. Across the way, Abraham shimmies across a piece of fencing, reaching out towards a walker suspended in the air. Curious, I climb down the fire escaping, dropping onto the road. By the time I reach the redhead he's sitting in the back of a military vehicle, cigar clamped between his lips.

"What? If at first you don't succeed, give up and smoke a cigar?" I jest, leaning against the vehicle.

Abraham shakes his head, letting out a puff of smoke, "Don't go mouthing off." As he goes to say more, the suspended walker begins to shift, the fence making its way through decayed flesh and bone. The dead one plummets to the asphalt below, a squelching sound echoing off the abandoned buildings as the body makes contact. Left behind is what looks like a rocket launcher. The man gives the scene a pointed look as if to silently tell me that sometimes those with patience win the day.

"Should I get it or do you wanna bask in your glory for a little?"

The man motions for me to go ahead, "Don't get hurt. If he comes back and you're even a little banged up we won't ever head the end of it."

"He doesn't care that much," I shoot back, dragging myself across the fencing. Slowly, I slide my fingers under the thick strap, allowing it to fall into my palm. The weight throws me off and for a second. I worry I won't be able to hoist it up. Fitting the toe of my boot into the empty space between the wire fencing, I'm able to get leverage. I pull the launcher up, cutting my elbow on a piece of jagged metal. Pressing my fingers to the spot, I can feel hot sticky blood. Certain it's no more than a flesh wound, I slide off the fence, returning the launcher to Abraham.

For a minute the man looks over his new toy before setting it aside, "There's an elephant here and it's getting bigger by the second. I figure I'm just as qualified as anyone to shoot it down. We didn't go back for Daryl because he wouldn't have wanted us to. You want to be angry, I will not stop you, but you cannot be angry with Sasha or me."

"Why did you offer to go with Sasha in the car?" The question has been eating away at me since the ambush. I can see it in Sasha's eyes that she's given up. It's the same look I had the day Daryl found me. Abraham's need to exterminate the dead is beginning to worry me as well. He seems enthralled by increasingly dangerous situations as if he's hoping to get in over his head. The adrenaline rush that comes with the risk seems to be the only thing keeping him going.

Abraham stares back at me, avoiding eye contact as if he's embarrassed to admit the truth, "Has nothing to do with nothing."

"Look, if you two are planning on going all kamikaze Joe and suicidal Barbie on me, I deserve to know," I throw my hands up in a sign of defeat. "I won't stop you. Hell, I won't even try and feed you some bullshit about being stronger than that. Just...don't blindside me. Don't run into every battle guns blazing hoping that it'll be the end, that next time you won't be strong enough or fast enough. I'm damn tired of losing people, Abraham, especially the good ones. At least let me know, so maybe when you do it'll hurt a little less."

The man holds my gaze, puffing on the cigar held in his hand. After a moment's hesitation, he gets up, casting his smoke away. A strong arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me close to a sweaty body, "I swear on my left nut that I will not do that to you or anyone else back home." Fingers curl under my chin, forcing my gaze up. "He's coming back, Blaire, he always does."

Daryl

Against my better judgment, I went back. As the gun Dwight's carrying clicks I know helping these people was a mistake. They don't want aid; they want to take and benefit from anyone who's dumb enough to offer assistance. I should've taken the bag, medicine and all, and gone to find the others. Trying to be nice doesn't get you anywhere anymore. Whoever these people are, this group that kneels, they're a bunch of cowards. Turning, I release the motorcycle handles, letting it fall to the ground.

"I'm sorry," Dwight says, stepping forward and yanking the bike back into an upright position. "Give her the crossbow."

He keeps the gun pointed at me as the brunette creeps forward. Maybe he has the upper hand today, but he won't always. I'll keep coming after him like a bat out of hell until the day he dies. "You gonna go back? You gonna be safe?"

"Shut up," Dwight hisses, brandishing the gun, taking a step closer.

No way I'm not going to make him think about his decision. He's going to leave this place knowing he's a coward. This made up safety that his group preaches is a lie. I hope he finds that out sooner than later. "Ain't nowhere safe no more."

"Give her the crossbow," the man answers back, his finger curling around the trigger of the gun.

"You gonna kneel?"

Dwight pulls the trigger, the ashen bark of the tree behind me exploding as the bullet makes impact. I jerk away from the noise. Not once during our trip through the woods did I think Dwight would actually shoot me. Something's changed. He would now if he had to if it meant he got his way. Slowly, I pull the crossbow over my head, handing it to the man. He takes it, strapping it on as he hands the gun over to Honey.

As the bike roars to life the female tosses the bandages out of the bike satchel, "Patch yourself up. We're sorry."

"You're gonna be."

I watch the couple disappear through the trees, the sounds of the engine fading. Only two options left now, patch myself up and start looking for Sasha, Abraham, and Blaire or sit down and admit defeat. I'm not giving up. Shaking the dirt off the roll of gauze, I wind it around my arm, tying the two ends together to hold it secure. I wander, coming back to the place I started.

The melted down plastic of a once been motorcycle helmet turns, the thing inside groaning as I approach. As I go to kick the walker's head in, finally putting it out of its misery, the earth stirs. Squatting down, I move more of the ash, revealing a slab of metal with a fuel logo painted on it. Continuing forward, I follow the path of the disturbed earth, clearing away charred branches. Behind them sits the fuel truck that Dwight talked about. I walk around the side of the tanker, banging along the metal siding. As I reach the driver side window, a hand smacks back. Yanking the door open, I let the walker fall to the ground, crushing the fragile bone under the heel of my shoe.

I follow the road I came in on, letting it lead me back towards the point of ambush. If I don't see any signs of Abraham, Sasha, or Blaire I'll head back to Alexandria. As I near the town, a spot of brown flies down the road. I stand on the brakes, trying to get the machinery to stop before it blows down the female heading my way. The engine hisses breaks groaning as the tanker halts in the middle of the street.

I step down out of the cab, "Dammit woman, you tryin' to get hit?"

"Daryl," Blaire throws her arms around me, breathing heavily as she holds herself close to my chest.

After a second, I wrap an arm around her. She smiles up at me, a look of relief in her light grey eyes. I'm glad she's okay. In just a few short weeks the brunette has become a welcomed staple in my life, "You worried about me or somethin'?"

"Or something," Blaire answers, taking a step away from me as Sasha and Abraham join us on the street. She keeps her fingers curled around my arm as if she's worried letting go would risk me disappearing again.

Abraham carries a case, a launcher of sorts thrown over his shoulder. He pats me on the shoulder, glancing down at Blaire's hand, giving an approving nod before climbing into the passenger side of the fuel truck. Sasha follows suit.

"Ready to go home?" I keep my eyes set on Blaire's thin fingers, riddled with thin white scars. For the first time I notice a small black star tattooed on the inside of her thumb.

Steady grey eyes stare back at me. Something about her has changed. The fear is gone, replaced by strength. Blaire holds her head high now, the demons she's been fighting since the day we met put to rest. "Let's go."

We cram into the truck, heading back in the direction of Alexandria. Reaching forward, I grab the walkie-talkie that has been discarded on the dashboard. I have no idea if the other half of the herd got to the walls or if Rick survived whatever went down on his way to meet up with us. We have to try though. There have to be people back home. "Rick, you copy?" Static crackles then silence. "Anybody?" Through the feedback, I hear what sounds like a voice. Everyone in the cab goes silent, eyes fixed on the walkie-talkie. "Say it again?"

"Help."

Blaire grabs the radio from me, holding it up to her ear. The static has taken back over, no voice coming through. Everyone remains quiet, waiting for the person on the other end to say more, for some kind of confirmation that we aren't all just hearing what we want. Eventually, the brunette sighs, tossing the walkie-talkie back up onto the dashboard. "Whoever it is sounds hurt."

"That doesn't change anything," Abraham interjects. "We need to go back to Alexandria. Those people there need our help. If it was gunfire coming from back home our family is in a whole heap of trouble."

Blaire leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, "We could split off. You and Sasha could go back to Alexandria in the truck. Daryl and I could out looking. Whoever it is can't be far, not if the walkie picked up their signal, maybe fifty, seventy-five miles. I'm sure we could pick up a trial."

"You really wanna split up again?" Sasha questions, raising an eyebrow. I wonder how much trouble Blaire gave them about staying put instead of going out to try and find me.

As Blaire goes to answer, her attention is pulled. A group or bikers sit, positioned across the road. Getting around them would be impossible. There are no other roads; to our left is a ditch, on the right a line of trees. Whoever these people are, they picked their cut off point with a purpose. I wonder if they're with the group Dwight was talking about. If so he must have gone back, probably told whoever is in charge about us. If I ever see the prick again, I'll kill him. Seeing no other option, I stop the truck.

"Why don't you come on out, join us in the road?" The man at the front of the group takes a step forward, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

The four of us get out, lining up along the front of the truck. Each of us only has one gun. The ammunition and the launcher Abraham brought along are tucked in the back of the tanker. Even if we wanted to fight, we're outnumbered.

"That's great. It's going well right out the gate," the grey-haired man smiles, taking another step forward. "Now, step two, hand over your weapons."

"Why should we?"

My question seems to throw the leader off for a second, his eyebrows drawing together. I have a feeling whatever group he's with isn't used to being challenged, "Well, they're not yours."

"Not yours either," Blaire crosses her arms over her chest, taking a step towards the man. I hope she knows what she's doing with this newfound fire guiding her actions.

The man in front of us frowns, "I wouldn't start that."

"Whose are they?' Sasha challenges, taking a lead from Blaire. We might be outnumbered, but the girls don't seem to want to go down without a fight.

The man stands tall, eyes scanning over our group, probably trying to figure out if he should entertain the questions or just kill us on the spot. "Your property now belongs to Negan. If you can get your hands on a tanker, you're people our person wants to know." He takes another step towards us. "So let's get those side arms, shall we?" With one last step, he stops in front of me, holding out his hand. "Right now."

Reluctantly, I hand over my gun. This is the third time in less than forty-eight hours that I've been stripped of my weapon. This time doesn't sting any less than the others. I hope these people know who they're dealing with. If they think we're just going to quietly oblige without any kind of consequence in return, they're idiots. We'll hunt them down and kill every one of them, just like we've done in the past.

"Thank you." He continues down the line, collecting Sasha's gun. Abraham stands tall, staring out into the distance over the man's head. The biker frowns, letting out an agitated sigh. "If you have to eat shit, best not to nibble. Bite, chew, swallow, repeat. It goes quicker."

Abraham pulls out his weapon, handing it over.

The leader of the biker group turns to Blaire, "Now for you scarface."

"Well," Blaire says seemingly unfazed by the man's comment about her now healed injury. She's accepted the thin white line running down the side of her face. She thinks it gives her character. "I was willing to cooperate and then you started with the personal attacks."

The man shakes his head, sucking his teeth as he shrugs, "Come on honey, I'm just calling it like I see it. It looks to me as if you've gotten in over your head one too many times. Could be the attitude. We can work on it though."

"You want it-" Blaire pulls the gun from the holster on her thigh, making sure the barrel is pointed towards the man's chest "-go get it." She tosses the firearm into the underbrush lining the road.

Instead of lashing out, the man motions for another behind him to retrieve the gun. Blaire and the leader of this group stare each other down, neither one wanting to be the first to look away.

"Who are you people?" Sasha questions.

With a sigh, the man turns away from Blaire, resting his gaze on Sasha, "I get the curiosity, but we have questions ourselves. And we'll be the ones asking them while we drive you back to wherever it is you call home. Take a gander at where you hang your hats. First though, your shit. What've you got for us?"

"Yeah, you just took it," If we have any chance of getting out of this situation, we need to keep them away from the launcher. It may be the only way we're able to get the upper hand.

The grey-haired man frowns, shaking his head, "Come on. I mean, can we not, okay? There's more. There is always more." He turns to the same man he made get Blaire's gun. "T...take my man to the back of the truck, start inside the back bumper, work your way to the front."

I'm lead behind the tanker by a chubby man, his small black eyes shifting around uncomfortably. As he begins searching under the bumper, I throw myself against him, working to get the knife strapped to his hip. The man spins, slamming me into the back of the truck. Quickly regaining my balance, I charge again. The man steps to the side, pulling his knife. Son of a bitch. Ducking, I get behind him, once again running him into the fuel truck's back end. He swings, getting me in the wound on my arm. I grab his wrist, twisting it as I try and get the knife. The man struggles, pushing me backward onto the ground. As he goes to attack again, I roll to the side, popping back up. Hurrying forward, I get an elbow wrapped around his neck. Trying to break free, the man thrashes around, stabbing blindly. He gets me in the back before I'm able to get the weapon from him. Slitting the man's throat, I let his body fall to the ground. Bending down, I slide the knife in through his eye socket, piercing his brain. I gather the launcher, loading one of the rockets. Walking around the side of the tanker, I aim the weapon at the group of bikers; taking in a deep breath I let it out slowly as I squeeze the trigger.

A cloud of fire and smoke engulfs the group, pieces of flesh and metal littering the road. Coming around the front of the truck, I see the members of my group, all on the ground.

Blaire pushes herself up, leaning on her arms. She looks over to me, smiling, "Damn."

Reaching down, I help the brunette up off the ground, "Son of a bitch was tougher than he looked."

"Did he cut you?" Sasha questions as we move to get back in the truck.

"A little," I flinch as someone touches my back. Glancing over, I see Blaire holding the red rag to the cut. She raises her free hand, letting me know she doesn't mean any harm. "What a bunch of assholes."

Sasha pulls open the truck door, "Let's get you fixed up at home"

"Yes ma'am."

Blaire

"You think that was it? I mean, who the hell is Negan?" I question as we continue back to Alexandria.

Beside me, Daryl shakes his head, "Naw. There's more of 'em."

He's different now. Whatever happened to him after we got split up changed him. He's fighting something inside of himself, an anger of sorts. Yet, as I catch his glance, I can see a softness brought on by an understanding of needing to be a solid unit now more than ever before. I want to ask what happened, to see if I can figure out what the change is, but I don't. He won't talk with Abraham and Sasha around. Even with them out of the picture, I might not get anything from him.

Sighing, I lean back against the seat, propping my feet up on the dashboard. Slowly, I tilt my head to the left, letting it grow closer to bowman's shoulder. As my hair brushes against his skin, he twitches, turning to look at me. I hold his gaze, silently asking him to let me do this. When he doesn't pull away, I let my temple land on his arm. He doesn't stiffen under my touch. Instead, he takes a hand off the wheel, squeezing my knee for a second before turning his full attention back to the road.

"Here," I dig in my pocket, pulling out the crushed packet of cigarettes.

Once again, Daryl shakes his head, "Keep 'em. Least till we get back." His voice drops to a low whisper. "Glad yer okay-" he turns his head, addressing Abraham and Sasha "-glad yer all okay."

By the time we reach the walls of Alexandria, the sun has set. I can almost instantly tell that something isn't right. Gunfire can be heard from behind the metal plates, the groans of the dead filling the air. Daryl stops the tanker outside of the gate, flashing the lights. As expected, no one comes.

Abraham throws his door open, quickly getting out of the vehicle, "I'll go over the wall, open the gate. You be ready to drive this tank through. Sasha, will you be my backup?"

The female climbs out of the truck.

Daryl and I sit in silence, listening as the sound of gunfire fills the night. The passenger side door is yanked open, Glenn sliding inside. He's covered in blood, panting heavily. Others pile in, all of us squishing together. Leaving anyone outside isn't an option. Walkers have begun to spill out of the now open gate, beating against the side of the fuel truck.

"What the hell happened?" Daryl questions Glenn.

The other man shrugs, shaking his head, "I don't know. I just got back. Listen...we can-we can lead some of them away, but they're scattered."

"No," Daryl asserts, settling into his seat a little. Whatever plan he's got, I hope it's a good one. Everyone inside is at risk of getting overrun if we don't help. There's too many of the dead to fight off hand to hand. "We get 'em all together. Won't have to lead 'em away."

Daryl drives us towards the lake in the middle of Alexandria. On the far side is a grate, the water flowing under it leading into the lake. As he drives, the bowman describes his plan.

"We fill the source with fuel, let it run into the water. Shootin' one of those rockets into the lake'll light the whole thing on fire. The walkers will go. We've seen it before."

Everyone in the truck nods, agreeing that the plan is better than trying to lead the herd out of the walls. The sound could potentially draw in more from outside, creating an even bigger problem. We can't have the group we lead away start to funnel its way back. Daryl climbs out of the cab, connecting the tanker's hose to the water source. Once it's complete, he comes back to the door, breathing heavy, "You drive, get us as close to the lake edge as possible."

"Where the hell are you gonna be?" I demand.

Daryl glances up, "The roof. Go!"

As he climbs onto the hood of the truck, I begin to roll forward. This better work. Plan B is nonexistent. As I grow closer to the lake edge, Daryl bangs on the top of the tanker. "All right! This is it!"

There is a hiss, the surface of the lake erupting in flames. The dead begin stumbling towards the light. Dozens reach the edge, tumbling into the fuel filled waters. Shoving the door open, I shake off Maggie's protesting grasp, clamoring onto the roof. Daryl stands tall, the launcher held down by his side. The bowman looks over at me, finally accepting the packet of cigarettes. He slides them into his pocket, setting the weapon down on the top of the fuel truck.

"You wanna fight?"

Nodding, I jump down onto the hood of the fuel truck, "Let's go."

The flames licking at the water's surface have begun to die, glowing a pale yellow against the pinks of a rising sun. Bodies litter the streets, the stench of death lingering, blood forming puddles in the streets and sidewalks. We lost people, good people not just because of the dead. Rick paces back and forth, heels of his boots scraping against the floor of the infirmary. Everyone waits in a strained silence, hoping that Carl wakes up. The specifics weren't shared, but from what I gathered Rick's son was shot by one of our own. The chances of him making a full recovery are slim.

Daryl sits over on the window ledge, chewing at his thumbnail as I pull a needle through the flesh of his back. The knife wound inflicted by the biker was deeper than we originally thought. I try to be as gentle as possible, pulling his shirt to the side only as much as I have to. Each time I initiate contact with the tanned skin, Daryl twitches, quickly settling. Making the last stitch, I tie the end, cutting off the excess. The bowman turns to face me. There is a trust in his eyes that I've not seen before.

"You ain't half bad smart-ass," Daryl says in a low voice.

I smile, sitting down on the window ledge next to man; "We make a pretty good team when we aren't trying to push each other away."

"Yeah," Daryl answers after a few seconds. "We do."

Slowly, I rest my head against Daryl's shoulder, careful to avoid the shallow bullet wound that runs across his bicep, "It could be like this always."

"How?"

"No more fighting, no more pushing me away. Just this; working together, trust, friendship, from now on."

For a long while, Daryl remains quiet, chewing at his bottom lip. I begin to wonder if my suggestion was too much. It's possible, that even with everything we've been through together over the past few days, he still doesn't want to let me in. The bowman's arm wrapping around me silences my worries. He holds me close to his side, cheek coming to rest on the top of my head.

"Just this."


	14. Changes

**Time changes all things,**

 **There is no reason for feelings of the heart to be exempt**

Daryl

I throw myself into the efforts to clean up Alexandria, trying not only to distract myself, but also to avoid Blaire. Since our conversation in the infirmary being around her feels weird. I don't know what to say to her or how to act. The things that once seemed easy and natural between us now feel forced. The brunette, who I was just starting to feel comfortable opening up to, now seems like a stranger. Blaire doesn't force the conversation or purposely put herself into situations with me, which I appreciate. I need time to figure out why I'm feeling this way.

"Are you two fighting again?" Carol questions, helping me load a walker into the truck we've been using to transport the bodies outside the walls.

I shake my head, dropping my gaze as Blaire passes, coming back from her morning shift in the guard tower, "Naw."

"Then why are you back on Rick's couch?"

Sliding my arms under another of the dead, I lift it off the ground, "She's changed."

"How so?" Carol presses, using a broom to scrub at the bloodstains littering the streets.

Dumping the walker into the truck bed, I turn and look at my friend. She's not going to drop this until she gets all the answers. For some reason, Carol has taken an interest in the interaction between Blaire and me. "Don't know. She's better, don't need me around to remind her that she's stronger than all this. That night we got back she told me she was tired of fightin', said we needed to let each other in."

"Do you want to let her in?"

I knew the question was coming. With time to think about it, I've decided that Blaire and I were brought together for a reason. Letting her in could be good for me. I've never trusted easily, but something about Blaire makes me want to. Her smile and the way her eyes watch me lets me know she understands on a level that most people don't. "Think so."

"So what's the problem, Daryl?"

"Whole thing feels weird," I admit, knowing Carol isn't going to judge my feelings. "Don't know what to say to her."

My friend grins, "The same things you did before. It's okay to trust her. You two are helping each other. You're good for her. She's good for you. You can't move backward."

"She ain't afraid anymore."

Carol nods, resting her hand on my shoulder, "That's good. Are you?"

To trust in this world is dangerous. People turn; they protect themselves, caring little for the safety of others. I've seen it too many times. Despite this, I know I need to let people in. A life of pushing others away did me no good. It made me bitter, angry. Once, I trusted, listened to my heart instead of the fear constantly swirling through my thoughts. Blaire makes me want to do that again. She cares deeply for people, giving more to them than to herself. Blaire, like me, is searching for that place she belongs. Letting her in is something we both need. "Ain't scared."

My friend gives me an approving nod as Blaire starts in our direction. She wears a cheery smile, carrying a bucket filled with what appears to be fruit, "I come with lunch. It's not much, but it's what we have. I think I'm gonna make a trip back to where I used to get supplies from, see if there's anything left."

"No," the word comes out before I have time to stop it. Blaire turns to me, raising an eyebrow. Quickly, I try and backtrack, not wanting to start out our new roles together sounding like an ass. "I mean I'll do it. No, let me go with you. It's dangerous. Shouldn't be out there alone. Not with everything, Negan. People."

The brunette stands patiently, letting me stumble over my words, a friendly smile hanging on her lips, "Okay, as long as you promise to relearn how to form a sentence between now and then."

"I think he's been out in the sun for too long," behind me, Carol stifles a laugh at Blaire's jab.

The brunette hands Carol an apple from the basket, "Well, he knows where the couch is if he ever wants to get out of the sun."

As Blaire disappears down the street, Carol elbows me, offering a sympathetic look, "She wants you to spend time with her."

"Got stuff here ta do," I answer back, gaze remaining on Blaire as she hands out fruit to the others gathered in the street working to clean up Alexandria.

Most of the bodies have been loaded into the trucks or carried beyond the walls. The blood that runs through the streets is beginning to disappear, draining into the grates in the road or mopped up. If it weren't for the fallen church steeple, our home would look like the events of the other night never happened.

Carol rolls her eyes, leaning on the handle of her mop, "Things here are under control. Go."

Giving a last glance to the truck full of bodies, I head up the street towards the brunette. She spins, smiling as I approach. She shifts the fruit basket to one hip, her hand searching for mine. Slowly, I reach out, letting her squeeze her fingers around my palm for a second before she returns both hands to the container. I grab out a few apples, passing them to the workers as we continue up the sidewalk. Words form, but I swallow them down, everything feeling too forced or like something I shouldn't say.

"We should leave tomorrow. Probably need to clear it with Rick though. He won't want too many people out with the threat of the other group," Blaire rambles on, handing out the last of the items in the bucket before turning around. She glances over at me for approval of this plan.

Nodding, I take the fruit basket away from her, setting it down on the front porch of Rick's, "Since when you ask Rick for approval?"

"I'm trying to be a team player, Daryl, or does that not matter anymore?" Blaire shoots back, waving away my offer of a cigarette. I don't know why she's acting like she doesn't smoke. There's a cigarette missing from the package. Nothing about Blaire makes me believe she would have offered any to Sasha or Abraham. The brunette is good at sticking to her story; I'll give her that.

For a few minutes, I sit, smoking while I watch Blaire. She wraps and unwraps a string coming off of her pants around her thumb. Her front teeth work against the chapped skin of her bottom lip. Light grey eyes follow the people moving up and down the street. She pulls a threadbare sweater closer around her thin frame, knees drawn up to her chest. Underneath the new strength, there is still fear. It's just placed differently than before. "Naw. Bein' a team player's still what we gotta do."

"We?" Blaire's soft gaze falls onto me "Wasn't aware this was a group effort."

"Can't do it alone, gotta have people," I answer.

The girl beside me nods, a knowing smile playing across her lips, "Do we need people or do we need each other?"

There she goes, trying to push me past where I am, already onto the next step. I don't have the answer she wants, at least not yet. Carol is right about Blaire and I helping each other. She's teaching me to be open and I'm teaching her to be strong again. The brunette just so happens to be a faster learner than me. She trusts quickly, letting people in until they give her a reason to block them out. I don't operate like that. It's best to keep people at a distance, you get less hurt that way. A child can only get their hand smacked so many times before they stop reaching for things. Mine got chopped off on the first attempt.

"Yer shiverin'," I shrug out of my jacket, draping it over Blaire's shoulders. "Ain't got anything heavier than that sweater?"

The brunette pulls the clothing around her, closing her eyes as she takes a deep breath in, "At the house. When the suns out its nice. This wind will be the death of me though. Thanks for yours for now."

"Sure," I nod sliding my hand across the wooden step so that my pinkie brushes against Blaire's. Hopefully, the gesture is enough to answer her previous question at least for now. I like being open with her, I just need to do it on my time. The female's finger lacing with mine lets me know she understands. "Have you been by to see Carl?"

Blaire's face falls, "Yeah. Denise is doing a good job; he's been working on walking a little. Carl is a strong kid. I'm not sure too many other people could get shot the through the eye and live to tell about it. I'm worried about Rick though. He never leaves and never sleeps. Denise and Tara do good to get him to eat."

"Did the same before," I announce.

"Before?"

Nodding, I lean against the stair railing, draping my legs over the brunette's lap, "I told ya, how we met Maggie's family. Carl got shot early on. Maggie's dad fixed 'im up. Rick didn't sleep 'er eat, nothin' till he knew Carl was alright."

"Sounds like young Mr. Grimes should avoid guns," Blaire laughs drumming her fingers against my shin. "What is one thing you miss from before? Like a food or a movie or a place."

Her question catches me off guard. Lately, everything has been strictly business. We've had the herd to think about. The conversations Blaire and I used to have about the past and how we feel fell to the wayside. I wasn't expecting to get back to those things, not with the new threat of the people who ambushed us in the road looming over our heads. It's interesting to me how she can be so casual in a world that begs for constant vigilance. Blaire is good at remembering that we're all just people with thoughts and feelings outside of the dead.

"Being out and not having to watch my back. I miss just goin' in the woods and having a smoke without worryin' if something's gonna happen."

Blaire nods, getting a faraway look in her eye as if she's remembering a time long ago, "I miss butterfingers, like the candy bar. I miss car horns and traffic. I miss having a place to be. I miss when people held the door for other people instead of stopping them in the road and telling them to turn over their shit. I miss playgrounds and squeaky swings. I miss grocery stores and gas stations." The brunette lets out a snort. "It's funny how now that it's all gone, mundane stupid stuff is that I miss most. The stuff I used to hate, ya know?"

I don't have anything to say, at least nothing that would top Blaire's sentiment or make her feel better. When we found the prison, I felt like for the first time since joining Rick's group there was a place to belong. Wandering around and fighting to survive each day wears on you. A bed to call your own, even if it did belong to someone else, makes a world of difference. I wonder how long Blaire worried about where she would sleep before she found the house. Was she worried that even a minute of rest out in the wild could lead to someone in her group dying? I wonder how similar we really are without knowing.

"I want you to come back to the couch," big grey eyes meet mine, a look of shock filling them as if Blaire didn't mean to speak, "if you want, I mean. You don't have to just cause I want you to. If you like Rick's better that's fine."

Reaching forward, I tuck a finger under her chin, "Stop. Couch is a couch. If ya want me on yer's then that's where I'll be."

"Okay."

I give her a nod, "Okay."

Blaire

Rick agrees to let Daryl and I go back to my old place. The bug I came in with sits just inside the gate, loaded down with supplies that will be needed for the next few days. The trip is supposed to be short, an in and out type of thing. There will either be supplies left on the shelves or there won't be. I'm not expecting to spend more than a night away from Alexandria.

"Just go in and open a pouch of tuna, give him a head pat and he'll be fine," I reiterate to Tara who agreed to look after Duke. "If you feel like it you can stay. He likes cuddling. There's some rum and a box of pasta in the cabinet above the refrigerator if you want to woo Denise."

Tara laughs, "Am I that obvious?"

"Yeah," I answer with a smile, pulling my friend into a hug. "Don't worry about us-" I turn, glancing back at Daryl who leans against the passenger side of the car "-I'll keep Daryl nice and safe."

The man snorts, "I'm comin' to watch your back, smart ass. Come on, ain't got all day."

"You two have fun," Tara winks before turning and heading back towards the infirmary.

I pull open the driver side door, climbing inside my car. Daryl follows suit, instantly propping his feet up on the dash. This scene reminds me of our drive to Alexandria. Time moves faster in this new world. Daryl and I have come so far from that time. The gates slide open, exposing the road to us. Putting the car in drive, I head forward slowly, waving to Abraham who stands guard as we pull out.

Daryl's gaze stays on me, his eyes boring a hole in the side of my face. He chews at the skin around his thumb. I feel like there is something he wants to say and sit quietly as he tries to form the words. As I begin to grow impatient, I drum my fingers against the cloth of the steering wheel, pulling my leg up onto the seat. "You okay with going back?"

"It was my idea," I answer with a nod. He's worried that being in the house where my group died is going to send me back to the dark place I was in when he found me. I'm stronger than that now. I've got people and things to fight for again. I want to survive this world for no one else but myself now. "Daryl, what did they do to you?"

The man beside me sits up straighter, feet falling from the dashboard. He looks away, eyes following the line of trees that moves past us. The needles are starting to turn brown, leaves transitioning from green to vibrant oranges and reds, as the weather grows colder. "Don't worry about it."

"That wasn't the question," I challenge. "You're my friend, Daryl-" reaching out, I grab hold of his hand "-I'm worried about you." I offer an encouraging smile. More than anything, I want him to feel safe talking to me. Whatever happened out there is weighing on the bowman more than he wants to let on. If he keeps it bottled up inside, it'll eat away at him. At least if he shares I can begin to understand how he's feeling and work to help.

Daryl drums his fingers against my skin, turning to look at me, "Kept me tied up, pointed guns at me."

"I'm not asking to embarrass you or make you relive it. I want to get it. I want to understand why you want him dead so bad. I'm on your side, Daryl. I'm fighting your fight, just help me fuel the fire a little."

The man sitting next to me sniffs, once again propping his feet up on the dashboard, "He said he wasn't goin' back. I helped him, brought back medicine for the girl he was with, helped him bury her when she died. He kept sayin' he wasn't gonna go back. He wanted to come and be different, but then he betrayed that. He didn't just point the gun, he shot, left me stranded out there in the woods, no vehicle, no weapons. I ain't never gonna be treated like an animal by no one. I gotta kill 'im. He ain't gonna learn or change. He's a coward. I gotta kill him."

"We will. I'm gonna help you. Whatever we have to do, we'll do it. Us or them, yeah?" I squeeze Daryl's hand.

The bowman gives a curt nod," Us or them."

Daryl

Despite insisting that she would be okay going back to the house where she lost her group, Blaire begins to fidget as we draw closer. She drums her fingers against the steering wheel, chewing at the inside of her cheek as she shifts around in the driver seat. If she's helping me, I've got to help her. Blaire wasn't there to experience Dwight, yet she seems more than willing to get behind my plan of killing him. I don't know the demons the brunette is trying to tackle, but I'm gonna help her kill those, whatever they turn out to be. Gently, I place my hand on her shoulder, quietly reminding her she's not alone.

"We don't have to stay there."

Blaire shrugs, turning onto the dirt road that leads up to the house she brought me to the first night we met. I never thought I'd be willing to call that girl strong or brave. I never thought I'd consider her a friend. "It's safer than setting up camp in the woods. I'll be fine."

Before I can say more, Blaire slams on the brakes, sending me flying towards the dashboard. I try and brace myself, forearm slamming into the plastic. The brunette's gaze stays fixed ahead of us. At the bend of the road sits a black sedan, the back end riddled with bullet holes; the car from the burnt forest. I reach out to stop Blaire from exiting the car, but she's already gone, appearing in the windshield. Her door sits open, the engine of her car idling.

"Blaire," I push my door open, grabbing one of the weapons off the back seat.

She spins around, walking backward up the road, "It's empty."

"We should keep going," I answer back.

Blaire continues forward, disappearing around the front of the car. Realizing that she's not going to listen, I climb out onto the road, spinning around in small circles as I grow nearer to the brunette. She's got her hand pressed to the hood, head tilted to the side, her eyebrows squeezed together as she concentrates. "It's cold. Whoever left it here has been gone a while."

"Probably gonna come back soon then," I offer, turning back towards the car we arrived in. If we leave for the store now we may be able to get back to Alexandria before dark. The people who left the car will be back. Blaire and I might not be able to take them all down on our own.

Instead of listening, Blaire throws her ax over her shoulder, heading further up the dirt road leading towards her old safe house. She hums quietly to herself, skipping along to the beat inside her head. This new found courage is going to get her killed. "Get back here."

The brunette spins back towards me, "I'm going in. If you don't want to come with me, wait by the car."

"Blaire, don't be stubborn. Just come on," I argue back, taking a step in the female's direction. No way I'm letting her go into that house alone.

"I'll be in and out, Daryl," Blaire assures, turning and continuing towards the house. "Keep my seat warm."

I glance over my shoulder once more before beginning to follow Blaire towards the house. If they're inside she'll never come back out. The brunette is already determined to help me in killing Dwight. She doesn't need to be tied up and threatened to add more fuel to her fire. A flash of yellow fills my vision, a gentle sinking voice floating in my ears. I shake my head, trying to clear my senses. Now is not the time for Beth to make an appearance. I'm letting Blaire in. There's nothing a dead girl can do about that.

As I catch up, Blaire glances over at me, "Thought you were gonna stay in the car."

"Someone's gotta watch yer back," I mumble back, kicking a rock in my path.

Blaire smiles at me, sliding her fingers between mine, "It'll be quick. I promise."

Sorry it's been so long since I've updated. I kind of have to go to a different headspace to write this and I've just not been able to get there lately. I'll do my best to start updating more quickly again. I appriciate everyone who is still sticking with me. :)


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